New York, New York
by caffeineswing9
Summary: When Harry's classmates return for an 8th year of training abroad in preparation for Ministry careers, not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality. Two rivals must come to terms with their beliefs, but will they accept the help? HP/DM, UST-Lime, M.
1. Planes, Pamphlets, and Propositions

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

"Please meet at concourse six on 10 September by noon. Your flight will depart at approximately one o'clock PM. Have all non carry-on luggage networked by Floo prior to this time." Hermione finished reading the pamphlet and looked up at her friends with interest. "Do you realize what this means? The ministry's finally putting forth the effort for tolerance! Think about it, when's the last time you've heard of anything this muggle-friendly being coordinated by the school?"

"Dunno, just sounds like an extra year of classwork to me," Ron muttered, hardly as excited as his girlfriend obviously was. He scratched at his belt line before glancing over at what she was reading. "D'ya figure Shacklebolt wants to make up for all the crud that happened last year or what?"

"Call it collateral damage if you must, but really, Ron, this is a trip of a lifetime! An extra year of training, let alone in the States? When's the last time you've been anywhere but the Great Hall since you were eleven?"

"I travel all the time! Between Bill and Charlie we've gotta have racked up 10,000 fly-all-the-time-thingies or whatever you call them---"

"--- Frequent Flier Kilos," Hermione interjected.

"Yeah, those things, whatever," Ron trailed off. It was hard for Harry not to laugh, considering this was an incredibly exciting offer, but leave it to his friends to distract from the idea. Hogwarts was pairing up with the ministry to offer a specialized "eighth year" of training in junction with the Junior Auror program, and it was going to be held in New York--- there was little chance that he was going to pass up the opportunity. The top of the pamphlet Hermione was emceeing announced that it was an effort to "better the understanding of the muggle world for recent graduates of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" and was a "prototype training course that would enrichen and expand upon previous learnings and blahblahblah"--- basically, it was mandatory for any future ministry career. And that was _one_ thing that wasn't going to go wrong for Harry this time.

"What do you think, Harry?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ron's current disinterest. "I'm certainly considering it, if I can manage the expenses . . . "

Harry motioned for the pamphlet. "It says here that we'd only have to pay for personal costs, I mean, I'll cover you Hermione," he said, reminding himself that he still had more than enough of a family savings in Gringotts to last him the next ten years.

She looked at her friend with disgust. "Don't be silly, Harry, I can make the money over the summer. You've already done enough of saving our arses, you don't need to be doing much else. Except going. What do you say?"

Harry looked at Ron, who was now seated comfortably in the nearest armchair. This was the first time they'd all gotten together for the summer, between Ron and Hermione visiting with relatives and Harry moving the last of his belongings out of the Dursley's place (not that there was much in his room to begin with). He couldn't even think where he would be right now without them, especially after last year. Ever since his first year at Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione had meant the world to him. They were even contemplating getting a place together, once everything settled down.

"I think it's a great idea," he eventually grinned. "C'mon, mate, don't leave us hanging without you," he said to Ron, who grumbled.

"I _guess_--- I mean it sounds like a wicked time, but I was looking forward to finally getting into the ministry with my dad, you know? Not another year of school all over again. For all we know, we'll have Slughorn in charge or something," he complained, sounding very tired at the idea of another "club" party.

"I highly doubt that Slughorn will relocate, especially to the States," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I can't imagine any levelheaded Slytherin for that matter attending. There's just too much irreparable damage to patch up here."

"Yeah, well, don't jinx it 'Mione."

"Think about it Ron. Would you be caught dead in another country after your family attempted a near holocaust on muggleborns? There's something called _laying low_, after all. That leaves out the majority of Slytherins, and thus anyone you particularly hate. Now will you _please_ agree to go with us?" she sighed, letting her arms drop to her sides.

"Errrhhn."

"What was that?"

"Maybe." Ron looked down at his lap, examining the seam in his pants, which probably needed to be repatched soon. Hermione obstructed his view as she flopped down in his lap. "Please?" she asked, managing the best helplessly adorable face she could. Harry thought this scene was a little strange, but that was just because he was still adjusting to the fact that his two best friends were now romantically involved.

"Fine, fine, I'll go. As long as I get the window seat on the airplane." Hermione semi-squealed as she hugged Ron, and Harry cracked another grin. This was going to be the most interesting year he'd had yet, and it would no way involve anything remotely close to Death Eaters, basilisks, or the Dursleys.

"But I swear, if I even catch sight of Zabini or Malfoy or any of those shit-fucks I'm throwing a good one right at their teeth," Ron cursed in a rather hilarious fashion, as Hermione currently had a death-grip around his neck and the majority of his words were constricted.

"Whatever you say, mate," Harry laughed to himself.

- - - - -

The summer passed with ease as Harry prepared for the upcoming "school" year in New York. If there was one thing he wasn't looking forward to, however, it was the separation from Ginny Weasley that would ultimately mean they wouldn't see each other until the holidays. Sure, they could manage, but Harry was worried that her final year at Hogwarts would mean distractions--- and distractions were bad. He wasn't much of the jealous type, but he was far too protective for his own good (and sometimes, too protective for anyone else's good), and without him there, he was worried she might run into trouble. Like other boys. She'd already dated around more than Lavender Brown by the time she was fifteen, and that honestly worried him. What was to say she wouldn't forget about him when he was thousands of kilometers away?

Harry was jogged back to reality when he was hit in the face with a pillow. "C'mon saviour of the world, wake up, we're off to the airport today," Ron said in a crackled voice that suggested he'd just woken up as well. Harry groaned. "I wasn't asleep, you git." Well, at least not entirely. He'd been having less than satisfactory dreams for the past week.

"Up, boys! It's seven-thirty!" called a hurried Molly Weasley from the hall. "There's bangers and eggs on the table downstairs. Hermione's already done." She carried on down the hallway collecting the last of the floor-strewn socks and underwear that needed to be washed for the trip by yesterday. Ron and Harry looked at each other and shrugged. They could do without for a few days.

"I'm gunna see if I can get my broom on the plane," Ron commented, going through some of the things under his bed while still laying on top. Harry smirked. "Don't count on it," he replied, thinking about the restrictions airlines usually enforced. Not to mention it was a magical device. _That_ would surely catch the attention of the workers x-raying their luggage.

"Well, how else am I getting my stuff over the Atlantic?" Ron asked, eyes still slightly closed from the threat of falling asleep again.

"The pamphlet said to drop it all off at the Leaky Cauldron, and they'd get it over by Floo," Harry reminded Ron. "Read any of it, mate?"

Ron flopped back on his bed, surrounded by the flashing orange uniforms adorned on his many Quidditch posters. "Not really. Figured 'Mione would take care of that part." Harry sighed to himself. At least some things were the same as they'd always been, even if it was only Ron's lazy arse shutting out anything labled as "necessary". He'd heard Hermione tell him earlier in August that she was "absolutely baffled" as to how Ron would actually get an entry level job at the ministry with his habits, but that was in the midst of one of their squabbles that they tended to have every other day. Harry couldn't help but agree with her, though. If Ron really wanted a position, he was going to have to treat this thing seriously. They all were.

"BOYS! UP!" Molly yelled from the next floor down. Harry flung the covers off and sat up wearily. "Be down in a second, Mrs. Weasley," he called out. "Blimey, Ron, don't go back to sleep," he said, as his friend gave a light snore.

They'd finished up rather quickly (once the rest of the family had effectively pulled Ron up from his morning coma) and gathered in the living room before double-checking their baggage. The Burrow was much less lively than it had previously been, as George was living on his own since Fred had passed, and Ginny had left for Hogwarts the week before. If that wasn't a depressing goodbye, Harry didn't know what was. He'd already lost more friends than he could imagine in the past year, and he wasn't prepared to lose the only girl he'd ever grown to love as more than just a friend. More than anyone, though, it was Mrs. Weasley who looked as though she was about to cry. "I have you in my home all summer long, and you're leaving me again like every year? What am I supposed to do with you three?" she smiled, keeping back obvious tears. "Here you are, adults already--- oh, just come here---" she said, moving into a group hug, which was held for a little longer than it comfortably should've. The three smiled at each other in a light hilarity. "Promise me you'll all look out for each other, I don't want to hear from McGonagall that you've all run into the mafia or--- or kidnapped by, oh, I don't know, doxies, just---"

"Mom, I think we got it, we're not first years," Ron interrupted.

"YOU especially. You better write home, Ronald, or I'll have to call in the Department of Unspeakables on your arse," she warned. Hermione laughed. "I think we can take care of him, Mrs. Weasley, he made it through Hogwarts at the very least."

"Barely," Harry jokingly muttered under his breath. There was a mutual laughter from all but Ron.

And before much else had transpired, they had apparated to London and dropped off their luggage accordingly. They each were allotted a carry-on bag, which they were to place their wands in for the entirety of the flight--- the employees at the metal detectors and security checks were Confunded, making it very convenient for their otherwise suspicious looking "sticks" to make it through. Harry watched as more of his past classmates filed into the terminal, more than he'd actually expected would show up. In fact, he counted more than twenty recognizable faces, all carrying boarding passes and looking incredibly confused in the midst of the muggle transportation system.

"Neville!" Hermione shouted, waving him over in their direction. "I was hoping you would come with us!" Ron quietly mimicked her words in a distorted high-pitched tone, and Harry didn't say anything. It seemed as though he was having a hard time adjusting to the fact that they were actually _here_.

"Oh, hey Hermione, guys," he panted, his large backpack landing on the ground with a thud as he stripped it off his shoulder.

"What's got you so sweaty? Run here or something?" Ron started, an eyebrow raised.

"Actually, I did. Am I late? I lost the pamphlet that had the information on it, so I had to guess . . . "

"You're fine--- oh, Neville, did you ever get back to Margaret?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I did, she said she would be prepared to rent the place out by next June, if we wanted."

Ron looked up from his slouching stupor. "Rent the place? What place?"

"You're joking, right?" Hermione asked. "We talked about this two weeks ago!"

"_What_ did we talk about?"

"Neville said his neighbor was willing to rent out a flat in Canterbury, don't you remember?"

Ron was turning a slightly saturated color. "No. Are you planning to live with Longbottom or something?"

"_We_ were, Ron, if you'd been listening! You, me, Harry . . . " Who was purposefully staying out of this.

Harry didn't listen much. It was just another argument, like they'd been having all summer. He had to wonder how they had any continuity in their relationship with all the fighting they did. Of course, they'd always been fighting, for as long as they'd all been friends, but never to this degree. At least it would sort itself out. Eventually.

He was busy watching the busy pace of the terminal pedestrians before he noticed a particularly unexpected group proceed from the escalators. There was no way he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

Hermione and Ron momentarily stopped their verbal wrestling match and looked in the same direction. "No fucking way," Ron murmured, staring at the group. "I thought you said it would be social suicide to show their bloody faces around here, after all of _that_---"

"I--- I mean, it _is_ . . . or at least should be . . ." Hermione trailed off.

Harry watched with intensity as the four Slytherins made their way to the seating area, none of who gave any acknowledgement or greeting to the already present twenty-something students. A glance at Draco Malfoy was accompanied by a sharp pang in Harry's stomach; he knew that alliances were leveled out by now, but the idea that Malfoy had been something of a Death Eater brought up a rage in the back of Harry's mind. Who the _fuck_ did he think he, or anyone else, was, showing up with the rest of the 8th years?

Blaise Zabini took a seat, and checked his (assumingly platinum) watch. " . . . and as to _why_ we have to take muggle transportation, I'll never know." Harry was able to catch on to a portion of their conversation, albeit quiet. All of them, Malfoy, Zabini, Parkinson, and Greengrass, were dressed unsurprisingly well, and Harry even took notice of Malfoy's dragonhide carry-on. "It's not like we need any ministry connections. Well, Parkinson, maybe, but the rest of us . . . " Zabini elbowed Malfoy when he failed to comment. Harry couldn't hear what was asked, but Malfoy merely nodded. He didn't make eye contact with Zabini, at the very least.

"Oy, Zabini, planning on terrorizing the Americas too? Or d'you just want a cut of Yank girls to stick it in?" Ron called out, leaning behind Harry to get a good view. "Oh, no, no no, Ron, no . . ." Hermione whispered. The Slytherins looked up, Blaise immediately registering what was just said.

"Like you've got any right to say that, frecklefuck," Zabini answered, looking incredibly aroused. "We're here for the same reason you are, assuming you're not running away to elope that mudblood of yours in a country as trashy as the US."

Harry had to hold Ron down as he reached for his wand, which thankfully, was stowed in his carry-on. "Say that again, Zabini, and I'll rip your balls off---"

"--- Because you don't have any yourself?" Zabini said sharply.

"FUC---"

And then both fell silent, at first unnoticeably, but then very ostensibly so. Harry immediately noticed that Malfoy was nonchalantly placing his wand back into his bag. Whatever had just happened was a display of nonverbal magic, to say the least. "Calm down, the both of you, I've got a migraine and you're not helping it get any better. Yes, Weasel, I said _shut the fuck up_," Malfoy added when Ron made an aggressive motion toward him.

Harry was slightly taken aback. He didn't expect Malfoy to remedy the situation at all, but now that he realized it, Malfoy was the _least_ excitable of any of them at the moment. Pansy Parkinson shot Ron a disgusted look and turned to praising Malfoy over his momentary display of aristocracy, and Greengrass stood up to take a look around the bookstand.

Now that he really got a good look, Malfoy was looking a little better than he was last year, though he still showed signs of weariness. Between catering to his family and whatever cleanup was necessary after Voldemort was defeated, Harry assumed there was a lot of shit he had to go through. Not that he cared, of course, because he still hated the Slytherin with a passion that was unlikely to burn out anytime soon. But with any luck, he'd be able to stay as far away from him on this trip as possible.

As the plane started to board, the last of the Hogwarts graduates managed to catch up, shoes in hand. Luna Lovegood was dressed in the plainest frock Harry had ever seen with a pair of bright yellow galoshes--- apparently her idea of muggle clothing. But it suited her, naturally. "I'm sorry I'm late, the men at the counter wanted to look at my shoes," she explained in a dreamlike manner. "I said they could have them, if they really wanted, I had more. But I think they were checking for mangle-grop lice."

Harry couldn't help but smile. Leave it to Luna to make even the worst day a little brighter.


	2. Late Arrival

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

Draco Malfoy did not enjoy the idea of muggle flying. If anything, being locked in a metal-and-plastic tube traveling at roughly 800 kph in the bloody sky was the epitome of suicide. But if there was one thing that surely meant certain death, it was sitting near the rear of the plane, which he'd heard was the most susceptible if the contraption were to split in half. So, as a precaution, he'd promoted his seat to First Class, along with those of his travel companions. There was no such thing as being too safe. Or too sophisticatedly situated.

_Hope that bloody Weasel's in the lav if this thing goes down in flames._

Although everything regarding the war was said and done (well, aside from his father facing twenty years and the majority of his "friends" dead), he still felt it awkward to get accustomed to exchanging pleasantries with Potter and his chosen company. There was a line that Draco wasn't willing to cross. Not yet, at least.

" . . . weren't they, Draco?" Pansy's voice carried on, cutting through Draco's previous effort of recovering from impending take-off nausea. He didn't bother to open his eyes.

"Sure--- yes," he commented passively.

Pansy appeared to be evaluating his answer. "You weren't listening again, Drakey," she eventually decided upon. Merlin, he hated her voice.

"'Course I was." _How could I not hear every goddamn word you say? Like a bloody screeching macaw, that's what._ "I'm fairly exhausted, give me a break, we can chat when I'm not ready to vomit a good one," he said, leaning his head back against the seat rest.

In truth, it wasn't so much the airplane ride that was causing the sickness that had been harvesting in his system. He'd been unable to stomach much since the school year ended, let alone keep food down at an altitude of a few thousand meters. His father had done enough convincing in front of the Wizengamot to suggest that Draco was under the Imperius curse during his campaign with the Dark Lord, and Draco was lucky that they didn't question the statement further with Veritserum. So by now, he definitely wasn't looking forward to spending another year with the people he'd mostly held company with just for the sake of pureblood interaction. His father always picked his alliances, mostly, but at the moment that wasn't boding well for the Malfoy reputation. The only time he'd strayed outside of a strictly Slytherin introduction was in his first visit to Madam Malkin's, and that was with Potter. Before he knew he was an arrogant git with a hero complex, of course.

Draco dared a look out the window. At the acknowledgement that he was about fifty times higher than he'd ever attempted on a broom, he immediately shut the cover and sighed. Here he was, Draco Lucius Malfoy, eighteen and already a practical failure. He'd already disappointed his father beyond recognition, and his mother wasn't even worth mentioning anymore since she ran off to Sweden with the family accountant. As much as he disrespected her decision, he couldn't help but feel avariced that he couldn't get a woman to do that with him if he tried. Not now, not as long as he was a Malfoy. And definitely not as long as he was as thin, fair, and, well, effeminate as he was. He glanced up at his flanked bangs, which were nearly as long as the rest of his hair. He really did need a trim.

"Malfoy," he heard Blaise say, as he nudged him in the side. "Aside from having _Golden Boy_ Potter around all year, lighten up a little, we're off to a fresh start." Which was exactly what Malfoy was afraid of. Yes, true, he was for the most part fucked if he'd stayed in Britain, but the thought of abandoning his prominence as a pureblood and delving into the actual _muggle_ world was absolutely ridiculous. "We can always stay with my brother in-law if things get _unpleasant_." Blaise had accented that last word with a motion that directed his eyes back toward the economy cabin. "At least he's got a highrise office in the financial district. Inter-Ministry delegation and whatnot."

"I'm not worried about that in the least. I'm simply curious as to what's gotten Shacklebolt so completely _disturbed_ in the mind to require prerequisite training in another _country_, not to mention the with most incompetent of our class," Draco said passively. Although the majority of his words were held in conviction, he really didn't feel as strongly about the rest of his classmates as Blaise did. But it was an answer that his fellow Slytherins were expecting, which meant they wouldn't inquire further about his pensivity. No, in reality, there was little that mattered to him at the time besides his family's well being--- he didn't really give a fuck about anyone else on the plane right now.

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when the incompetent is leading. He chooses incompetent support."

"That's why I'm going on this trip, more than anything. The sooner we move into the ministry, the sooner we can get the correct mentality back into its legislation," Daphne added.

"Not to mention all the high-profile events we'll be invited to again," Pansy said. "Oh, it's been a while. Two years? My family hasn't been out to a nice soiree since your father hosted one for the governor," she finished, laying her head on Draco's shoulder. He tried not to shake her off, as much as he wanted to. There was something about having her skin on his blazer that made him consider immediately scourgifying it. Luckily for him, there were a lot of "s'cuse me" 's and "sorry" 's coming up the aisle, and Pansy turned her head to see what was causing it all.

"I'm sorry sir, may I help you?" the stewardess asked a very determined looking Ronald Weasley. "While the 'fasten seatbelt' sign may be turned off, I do advise you sit---"

"Sit my ass, we need some help in the back. Got a girl who passed out, right like that. Takeoff, I reck," he said, making sure he got his point across. At the understandment of his words, she immediately turned to assistance, ushering a couple more of the flight staff down the aisle.

"Is she responding at all?" the stewardess turned back to ask. Ron looked as though he'd been confunded. "No, she's _passed out_, I really don't think so." Though he didn't want to show it, Draco almost had a good laugh at the stupidity of the muggle's question.

After a quick announcement over the intercom by the pilot and a few passing minutes, the ex-Hufflepuff Hannah Abbot was assisted to the front of the plane, apparently roused by smelling salts. And of course it _had_ to be Potter who was propping her up on his shoulder, always the first to rush to the scene as Superman. Whatever good humor Draco had just gotten out of the situation had spiraled down the drain. He was hoping, at the very least, it was someone they didn't know personally. Then he wouldn't be obligated to care.

Oh wait, he was a Slytherin. He didn't have to.

But recently, it seemed that every thought he had pertained to the Boy who Pissed in one way or another. Harry Potter had the nerve to come to his rescue last year. Like he really needed to be helped. Although he could admit, if he really had to, that the incidental meetings with the Dark Lord had gotten out of hand, Draco wasn't about to call Potter a hero. He had to retain some self-worth one way or another.

"Leave it to a half-blood to make it through half the flight," Zabini smirked. Draco was sure he was the only one who caught Potter's glare, since the other three were now busy leafing through texts (or in Parkinson's case, eyeing the in-flight monitor with disgust). For a moment, he considered saying something to muzzle Zabini from saying anything further, but he decided otherwise. Instead, he locked eyesight with Potter, as though something of a challenge, then turned back to the window after a considerable amount of time had passed. Despite this, he only noticed exactly how magnetic Harry's eyes were for a brief moment. And they were incredibly magnetic.

- - - - - -

"Oy mate, what took 'em so long?" Ron inquired as Harry assisted the Hufflepuff back to her former seat. She quickly climbed over one of the Patil twins and sat down with a pink tint of embarrassment on her cheeks. Harry watched her for a moment to make sure she was all right after all the movement she'd just performed, and then turned back to his friend. "Dunno, had to make certain she wasn't going to up and die on the staff, I guess."

Hermione didn't bother to look up from her novella as she commented under her breath. "You know, you'd think someone with at least one muggle parent would be able to take a plane ride without losing consciousness."

"Yeah, hell, she got through the war with no complaints. This should be nothing compared to that," Ron answered. Hermione then quietly reminded him that Hannah had lost a parent in her final year at Hogwarts, and, if he continued to speak as loudly as he did, she'd get to dwell on that fact for the rest of the trip.

"I'm more proud of Harry than anything," Hermione smiled, looking up from her reading. "I can't say for certain, but isn't this your first vacation outside of the country?"

Harry smirked to himself. "I guess it is. Luckily for me I get to share the experience," he said. Without a doubt, he was beyond grateful for the opportunity to travel with his closest friends--- assuming midnight escapades into secret chambers and breaking into the Ministry of Magic didn't count. He vaguely remembered taking a road trip with the Dursleys to a convention (Vernon's company required it, but the entire Dursley family made a luxury out of the trip), though he was allotted an extra cot in Dudley's hotel room while the fat ass got the California King.

It was funny, really. Over the summer he practically lived in something of a drudgery, assuming that the upcoming year would be nothing but mixed reviews of accolades from the public and death threats from former followers of the dark side. He also assumed that he wouldn't be getting a ministry job at all, or at least not one having anything to do with the Auror department. After the owled return of his N.E.W.T. grades, there was little hope for anything beyond a desk job.

He was invited to stay with Remus and Tonks in July, after everything was said and done at the Dursley's place. Somehow, though, he couldn't take the invitation to heart. His presence, as much as he'd wanted to stay with the only people he could call family, would be something of an unnecessary disturbance. Tonks deserved the time with her husband and son, and he wasn't about to get in the way of that. And Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Remus considered him a reflection of the man's old best friend. Harry wasn't his father; he didn't need to remind Lupin of that. No, Harry always had the Burrow to return to, and he was thankful that he wasn't expected to be anyone but himself there.

"Next time, can we not do it muggle-style? Not that I have anything against them, but I mean come on, twelve hours on this thing to get across the ocean?" Ron added, ever the sentimentalist.

"Hey, I put up with it every summer," Hermione countered. "You want to go to France with me like we talked about, you're going to have to do it the old fashioned way." She smiled, lapsing into what Harry assumed was a daydream. How Hermione could put up with Ron's overbearing negative side, he would never know. Thank Merlin the bloke had a wicked sense of humor.

A flight attendant made her way from the front of the plane with a pushcart, one not unlike that on the Hogwarts Express, only instead of the curious (and often revolting) wizarding snacks that the students were used to having, it was laden with muggle brands of chips and soda. Dean Thomas, seated across the aisle from Harry, requested a whiskey--- although he was of muggle upbringing, he'd shook his head in confusion once he'd realized this was not the wizarding world, and the legal age was eighteen, not seventeen, so he still had a week to go. Ron fumbled through his muggle money (exchanged prior to the flight), handed the attendant a twenty, and passed the glass he'd bought to Dean behind her back. "Thank Merlin, Hermione, I don't know what I'd do without muggle identification," he said, turning back to her. "If I knew you were this good at making fakes, I'd have been at Rosmerta's place every weekend."

"I'm pretty sure Rosmerta knew your age, Ron, you practically drooled butterbeer every time you got near her," Hermione said in a matter-of-fact way.

The remainder of the flight went much more smoothly than it had in the first few hours, now that they were becoming accustomed to the ridiculous altitude and were able to doze off for brief moments. Harry stayed awake for the most part, chatting easily with Hermione whenever she was alert enough about the airport they were about to land at in NYC. " . . . oh, of course, not many people realized that it was a wizarding family, the Kennedys, but it certainly attests to the conspiracies regarding the assasination, big supporters of the anti-Grindewald movement . . . it was only natural that his followers would lash out, even twenty years after his defeat . . ."

Harry nodded, but was straining to look outside the window at the dotted lights below, which were growing larger by the second. Ron woke with a start at the _ding_ of the intercom, which announced they would be touching ground shortly. The runway became visible, not for its pavement but for the strip of reflectors that sidelined its shape, and a quick squeal from Susan Bones signaled that they had made contact with concrete.

In the seven years since Harry had met each of the people he was now surrounded by, he never would have guessed they would be appropriated into an eighth year of study, let alone internationally. It was as though this was a strange dream, one in which his muggle upbringing had collided with all the knowledge and memories of his wizard training. Perhaps it was the stress brought on by his final year at Hogwarts (or rather, his final year of Hogwarts _absence_), but to be waiting in a busy muggle airport with the most magical of Britain seemed surreal. Once they had headed out into the terminal, many rushed to the restroom (Pansy Parkinson and Hermione seemed incredibly apprehensive to have shared a go in the same toilet) while the others waited.

"Where d'you reckon we're going to be studying at?" Ron asked, turning to a very jet-lagged Harry.

"Dunno. Can't imagine it'd be too removed from the muggles, that ruins the point," he said, staring with fervor at the Cinnabon across the way. Luna interjected, as she made her way over from the newsstand. "I do hope that wherever we go is well insulated." Her comment earned looks of confusion from Ron and Harry, as much as they'd tried to repress it. "Well usually, this region is known for Thwartlekink infestations in the winter, my father published an article about it a few weeks ago . . ."

Before she could continue, however, they were greeted by a flash of bubblegum pink, and the voice of Nymphadora Tonks rose above the chatter. Harry gave a double-take; Hermione screamed in delight. "Oy, settle down, it's only me, it's only me, not Gwenog Jones or some other celebri---"

But before she could finish her sentence, she was grappled into a group hug by the three who knew her best. "We didn't know you'd be coming!" Hermione exclaimed, smiling widely. "When did you get here? What about Lupin--- no, what about Teddy?"

Tonks wriggled her way free of the deathgrip. "Relax, relax! It's as though I dropped off the face of the earth!" She smiled, though, and turning to her sidebag, took out a clipboard that had a hundred too many papers held down. "The ministry seemed to think I needed a vacation," she started, taking a headcount of the group that was regaining in number. "Or, at least in their words. I like to call it a Make-the-Rookie-Babysit assignment. Not that any of _you_ need to be attended to," she added when Ron made a less than enthusiastic face. "Just the aspiring Dark Lords, over there." She glanced apprehensively in the direction of the four Slytherins who were standing a fair distance away from anyone else.

"So, wait, you're by yourself?" Harry inquired. Of course, he knew there would be others assigned to the program, but in terms of her family, did she arrive alone? Lupin spent enough time away from his wife last year, and that was bad enough. Were they that easily separated?

Tonks looked at him and smiled, though it was an analyzing smile at that. Harry picked up on the fact that she was considering his lack of biological parental support. "Actually, they're staying out here with me. We rented a cottage near the school you'll be staying at."

Neville emerged from the bathroom in time to overhear the conversation. "A school? Really? I figured we'd be alone, the few of us," he said.

"Well, sure, we'll be the only group there at the time," she answered, leaving much room for explanation. "The school went under last year, closed up due to the war," she continued. "There's going to be a year of faculty reconsideration, see. Too many showed dark alliance. We're using the facility in the meantime."

Harry mused at the idea of staying in another wizarding school for the year. Though the idea was foreign to him, he was reminded of the hosted Beaubaxtons and Durmstrang students that had stayed while Hogwarts was in session. This time around, they would have the place to themselves, but still, the thought was strange.

"Alright. So, let's get this started." Tonks began yelling names out into the group, and looking down at the clipboard, passed out very ancient looking keys to their corresponding owners. Harry assumed, by the list that was organized into indistinguishable groups (Tonks' handwriting wasn't _that_ bad, was it?), that they were room keys for their dormitories. "Oy, I said MACMILLIAN, c'mon Ernie, your cousin in the ministry's downright moronic, don't take after him," Tonks called out, and Ernie rushed to pay the woman at the counter of the Starbucks. He made his way over and Tonks had no hesitation in tossing the damn thing to him. "Potter--- here Harry, and Ron, while you're standing there," she said, as she handed them two keys. Harry noticed that they were engraved with a three-digit number.

"Three fourteen," Ron commented, looking at his own. "Blimey, Harry, can you imagine? It'll be like our first year all over again."

Harry didn't answer. Ron was still going on, apparently. "--- and, hell, for the first time we won't have to worry about Filch, bloody stomping around the halls at midnight, I mean, did that man get _paid?_"

"Ron---"

"Makes it a lot easier getting into 'Mione's room, that's what. Reckon they won't care about gender, now that we're of age."

"Ron . . ."

"Oh, come off it, just 'cuz Ginny's not here doesn't mean you need to be upset---"

"Ron, that's not it." Harry waited for his sentence to register in Ron's sporadically moving brain.

"Oh, I get it, you can come to Hermione's room too---"

"Ron, I'm not in your room." The words came out heavy, and they certainly managed to hit the redhead in the face once Harry had finished.

" . . . Oh. Well . . . okay. I guess we'll, erm, just have to trade with someone, you know, make it work out somehow." Ron seemed uncomfortable, and then slightly curious. "What room you in then, mate?"

"Six oh-nine," he said, glancing at his key. "Guess they really space these things out, huh." The comment was something of an attempt to abate the awkward silence that was hanging over their heads. Harry and Ron had never shared different living spaces. Not while they were in school, at least.

"You're probably with Neville or someone," Ron figured. After all, it seemed as though Tonks had made the list, but upon asking (which was a bad idea at the time, since she was currently trying to track down Justin Finch-Fletchley in a rising annoyance) she informed them that it was randomized. Which didn't make sense at all, since the Parvati twins were placed together, and Hermione and Luna were both sharing room four fifty-six.

After much excitement and a load of wasted time, the group was ushered out of the terminal with a brisk pace. Had it not been for a pedestrian traffic jam upon entering the escalators, Harry would've missed noticing the grand size of the airport's atrium, which was designed in an incredibly modern style mirroring that of science fiction, and many of the purebloods who had never seen such grandeur in a muggle environment felt the need to ogle. Only one out of the many did not notice the architecture, nor proceed with nearly as much enthusiasm as the rest. Instead, Draco Malfoy had brushed it all off as he attempted to find an appropriate place to keep his key, engraved with the number 609 on its rusted front face.


	3. Unwelcome Problems

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

Their destination was further than expected. The school, Tonks explained, was located further up the Hudson River, in an area "much like that of Hogwarts". Though the land was not nearly as moorish and cliffy as what the Hogwarts Express ventured over, it resembled their home in the same manner of thick forests and hidden creeks, and after a quick nap on the train Harry awoke half expecting to see the outline of Hogwarts castle rising above the thickets. They'd taken yet another mode of muggle transport, which only meant a longer stretch of time before they got to sleep, but Harry had to appreciate the face value behind the idea. Wizards who weren't accustomed to doing things the old fashioned way often took the world for granted, which was something he'd easily learned when forced to do yardwork at the Dursley's by hand rather than by magic.

They'd been joined by Dedalus Diggle, a previous member of the Order, before splitting into groups of five and taking a portkeys just outside of Poughkeepsie. The groups had arrived in the backyard of a village inn, somewhere further north; the town, they were told, was the closest all-wizarding community for forty miles. After a short yet scenic walk, they were now venturing up a cobbled path toward an enormous tudor mansion, decorated in brick and wooden paneling that, by the looks of it, threatened to disintegrate at the slightest touch. The front façade was covered in ivy, giving it the look and feel of a university, and it was perched upon a slight hill that overlooked the massive river nearby. An elaborate archway that bridged the gap between two endless flagstone walls spelled out the word IRONGATE, and Harry assumed that this was the name of the wizarding school they were now standing in front of. To a muggle passerby, Diggle explained, it was similar to Hogwarts: ruddy, dilapidated, and worthless in appearance. They were considering changing the holograph to something more respectable, however, as property owners sought the location for a riverside hotel and casino. "Wouldn't be a bad idea," Ron commented loud enough for his friends to hear it, but Tonks smirked. "Tough luck, Ron, the gambling age is twenty-one here." He looked shocked.

"You're telling me I'm old enough to join up and fight against You-Know-Who, but I can't blow my money on bad judgment?" She continued to inform everyone that the legal drinking age was also tree years ahead of their time, leaving the group to exhaust their supply of groaning for the night.

Neville seemed undeterred, however. The majority of their trip was accompanied by his humming of Sinatra's _New York, New York_, and it wasn't until they were sorting through their luggage in the foyer of the mansion that Hermione questioned him. "You know, I'm curious as to how you learned that song, Neville," she started, pulling out a precariously large leather bag from the pile and shoving it aside. "It's muggle."

Neville looked aside to her in shock. "No, really? Gertie Mistle-Miles wrote that in the 1930s, its about her estranged lover who splinched himself," he said, confused. Hermione dropped the subject, apparently too tired to argue.

Thankfully, the recovery of their luggage took little time, and as it was now an unwelcomed eight o'clock in the morning, they were permitted to locate their rooms and sleep the rest of the day off. Training would not begin until the day after tomorrow, leaving them the chance to explore the grounds and get accustomed to their surroundings. Harry didn't really listen to the latter part of the explanation; all he'd been hoping for was a nice bed ever since they'd passed over the middle mark of the Atlantic. He said his goodnights to his friends, and, reluctant to be heading in a different direction than Ron, set out as one of the last students to exit from the foyer to find his room.

- - - - -

Draco had little patience for the directions that were given out, as the first thing on his mind was a hot shower, not an hour-long lecture. Long trips often made him irritable, but that didn't mean much; he was generally in an unstable mood as of late. He took little delight in the staff that was chosen to instruct them over the next few months, and although they were all fairly respectable in their own right, none of them particularly caught his eye as "capable". He'd recognized many of the faces who were introduced: Hestia Jones, some pudgy witch from the Order who'd spread quite a lot of rotter about his family since March; Charlie Weasley, another shining example of the offspring of the proletarian; Remus Lupin, a _werewolf_, for Merlin's sake; Horace Slughorn, which meant the unmistakable lavish parties from hell; the aurors Savage and Dawlish, who caught his father in the first place; not to mention the two Order members Tonks and Diggle that had lead them to the mansion. Draco allowed himself a few minutes' time of inner complaint before he promised himself he'd relinquish his annoyance, if anything, for the sake of his relaxation. He'd left the scene downstairs as soon as he could collect his larger baggage, and made for his room in an upset. The inside of the mansion was incredibly larger than the outside, but that's what magic allotted, after all. He suspected the school held around half of the students that Hogwarts did, but was not nearly as old--- which meant, thankfully, a lesser chance of ghosts, and thus a lesser chance of any Peeves act-alikes.

He ascended the shallow carpeted steps up multiple floors, passing chandelier after chandelier, which lit as soon as they were approached and faded as soon as they were forgotten. It almost reminded him of his home, but without his family. Not that he saw them much when he was home, of course. The Malfoy Manor was hardly _cozy_ enough to run into anyone in the same wing. But his home had always been enough of a comfort to him. He'd had a happy childhood, for the most part, even if functions were cold and uninviting. That was simply the card that was dealt--- after all, they were notorious Death Eaters.

Regardless, Draco was proud of his heritage, even if the rest of the world currently looked at him as though he were filth. The Malfoy name had always been associated with wealth and power, and he refused to accept anything otherwise. There were a few things he refused to accept, nowadays.

Draco had already reached his room and extended his key when the lock eminated sparks. He jumped back quickly, dropping the metal trinket in reflex. _Are they trying to bloody murder me? _After a few moments, he bent down to pick it up, and before trying anything remotely close to what he'd just done, attempted a few "Alohamora!"s with little avail. He sighed. This was going to be one of those nights.

He held the key for a second time, and tentatively approached the lock, before slipping it into the keyhole, and this time felt a strong warmth encompass his hand. The door clicked open after a moment of this, and looking back at the knob in disgust, Draco pulled his luggage into the room and shut the door.

The room was smaller than he would've liked, though it had a certain old world charm that he had to admit he appreciated. There were three beds, each large in spread and dressed lavishly with multiple pillows. He had to regret the color choice, as it greatly resembled that of Gryffindor, but aside from that, there was little he disliked. Assuming he could hole up in here for a period of time until his name was respectable again, he'd found paradise. He smiled in something of a snort; there was little chance that was going to happen unless he worked for it.

He entered the bathroom, which was attached near the door, not unlike the layout of a hotel room. He flicked his wand, which was _heroically_ returned by Potter after he'd had his fun with it by taking out Draco's family and whatnot, and water began to stream from the tub's showerhead. He removed his blazer and white collared shirt. There were certainly a lot of things he wasn't proud of when he looked at himself, like the faded mark on his arm that reminded him of his stupid decisions in the past couple of years. He envied Potter, he really did, although it really stung him to think about it. Potter, at least, made stupid decisions and got away with amazing outcomes. It wasn't fair. Potter got to live up to the expectation of saving the world. Draco's expectation was to destroy it. Potter had every damn person in the school on his side, or at least every person who actually mattered. Draco was left with very little, and sure, he might've deserved it, but he never wanted to live through it. Not like this.

He removed the remainder of his regal clothing and stepped into the downpour. It was, as expected, calming, though he still had plenty on his mind. He told himself to relax, but the chance of doing so was slim. He'd had too much on his mind prior to the trip, but actually being in the presence of the people he least wanted to see had only caused it all to intensify. His father, when would he see his father again? Or his mother? His hair clung to his scalp, and flattened, to his neck and brow, and he brushed it out of his face. Why was he recently having _thoughts_, he thought he'd gotten rid of those _thoughts_ years ago--- no, _Draco, don't lose your composure_. There was no way he was going to be estranged, abandoned, slandered, _and_ homosexual. Not while he was his father's son.

A sharp sound came from the front door, and Draco knees nearly gave way from the instinctual shudder that the last two years had embedded in his nerves. He didn't doubt that the majority of his classmates had inherited it as well.

He was about to turn off the water, but he kept it on for good measure, as whoever or _whatever_ it was would at least have the decency to keep out of someone's shower. The door made a noise again, and clicked open--- whoever the intruder was had already walked past the bathroom door and into the bedroom. He knew, by now, it had to be one of his roommates, and he hoped to heaven and hell that Zabini was one of them. There were very few people he could tolerate otherwise.

After finishing his shower, he moved steadily to the towel rack and dried off. He'd brought his own, not quite sure what state of cleanliness the school would be in, though so far it was holding up to standard. He couldn't help feeling unsteady at the prospect of having an unknown stranger in his room, but he dressed in nightclothes all the same and collected his things from earlier before stepping out of the bathroom. For a moment, he thought that whoever had entered had already vacated, which was perfectly fine with Draco if it meant more of a room to himself. But no, the boy was merely leaning down to shove a trunk under his bed, and upon his resurfacing, Draco repressed the urge to roll his eyes. Blaise stood up only to fall backwards in a heap on his bed, and smiling, turned to Draco. "Better than Hogwarts beds, y'think?"

Draco threw his wet towel in Zabini's face. "Nearly gave me a heart attack, that's what I think." Draco took a backwards plunge onto his own bed. " . . .Yes, actually."

"What, you thought I was breaking in? Coming to get you while you showered? Malfoy, really."

Draco rolled onto his side, his back facing Zabini in contempt. "I don't fuck around with theories. I was simply preparing for the worst. I'm not the most," he searched for the right word, "_appreciated_ man alive at the moment."

Zabini chuckled, which made Draco slightly annoyed. "You mistake yourself with your father."

"What was that?!"

"No, I mean it." Zabini spoke in an easy voice. It was rough to soak in, when paired with what he'd just said. "In a simple way. You are not your father, I think we've _all_ seen that," he said. "You're not locked up right now, at least. That's saying something right there."

Draco tightened his jaw. "My father's only in there because of Shacklebolt," he started. "It would've been great, we were all fine, we were all in the Great Hall after Saint Potter made a pretty light show out of Lord V--- You-Know-Who."

"Oh come on, Draco, don't tell me you've resigned to calling him that."

"What choice do I have?" Draco's voiced cracked as he looked over at his housemate. "What choice do I have, but to conform to what everyone expects me to be? Say what the public thinks is right? I'm walking a fucking tight rope here, Zabini, I'm on Ministry watch, I'm _blacklisted_ from most of the UK--"

"But we're not in the UK." He'd said it so plainly that Draco had trouble swallowing his saliva.

After a moment of consideration, Draco turned back over onto his side. Blaise was right, they _weren't_ anywhere near the Ministry. The thought was a small comfort, the first he'd had since the start of the trip, but he didn't want to admit it to the other Slytherin. There were very few he would ever entrust that knowledge to.

There was a momentary silence between the boys, in which they each studied the ornate ceiling tiles that were encrusted in gold leafing. Draco was the first to break it.

"How did your family do it." It was more of an awestruck statement than a question.

"Sorry?"

"How did your family get out of being prosecuted by the Ministry?" Draco did not mean to word his question in such a striking manner, but then again, he'd hardly cared for sugarcoating things.

Zabini sat up, and though his usually cold face gave way to a flash of galor, it was quickly mitigated due to Draco's presence. "We are, and have always been, less notorious than the Malfoys. You should be honored that you were the first family to stand trial. It meant they had the greatest interest in you." His words stung, and had the Malfoys not been the subject of conversation, Draco would've lauded his successful use of speech.

"They wanted to see us fall. That's not interest; that's scrutiny."

"Call it what you want."

This, again, caused Draco to return to his inspection of the ceiling tiles. Zabini wouldn't give him any answers he wanted to hear, that was for certain. Sighing, Draco reached over the side of his bed for a smaller bag of his luggage. It was nestled near the nightstand, a deep mahogany cabinet that Draco was sure he hadn't seen when he'd set his luggage down earlier. In fact, looking around the room, there were quite a few details he'd managed to overlook the first time around; the carpet was decorated in an art noveau pattern, and the doors of their wardrobe were inlet with mirrors. There was a desk in the far corner with a stack of fresh parchment and Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. Certainly he would've noticed it all after he'd walked through the door---

And then the thought occurred to him. The door had quite literally shocked him; there was little chance he'd have noticed anything. "Zabini, when you tried to get in the room, did you feel a sort of stun---"

But before he could finish his sentence, they both turned their heads at the doorway, because a loud swear word had sounded from its opposite side. Well, at least that confirmed Draco's suspicion. The door was intent on personal attack. And quite frankly, Draco himself immediately was too, because the greatest ruination of their future year ahead had just successfully walked through the doorway and dropped his bags onto the hardwood landing.

Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived to destroy Draco's life, was mistaken. He was _not_ their roommate. He couldn't be.

After a moment of awe stricken silence, and a small cough from Zabini, Potter was the first to speak.

" . . . I'm sleeping in Ron's room tonight." And with that, he grabbed a shoulderbag, turned back to face the entryway, and walked out of the room. The door slammed with a finality that made Draco wince.

A few seconds passed before Draco answered, shouting loudly at the place where Potter had just stood. "The feeling's _mutual_, Potter!"

Draco could not sleep that night, nor had he slept any night following. Harry Potter did not return to the room for a week.

* * *

AU Note: Shorter chapter, chalk it up to finals week. Next will be nearly twice as long, so bear with me :3


	4. Ignorance and Eggs

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

"Please be prepared to hand in your research a week from today, and please, my good fellows, make absolutely certain to read the chapter on runespoor eggs, they're most useful indeed . . . " Slughorn trailed off as he shuffled through the many pieces of parchment on his desk, and Harry stood up. They'd already held a few sessions with their new instructors, and it was now well into the sixth day of class. He was exhausted--- he'd been indulging himself to Ron's, Dean's, and Seamus Finnigan's carpet, but where the bloody hell was he supposed to sleep? In the room he'd been assigned? Yeah, he'd get on that, right after he swallowed a bucket of blast-ended skrewts. He'd asked Tonks about a reassignment, but she'd declined and said there was little she could do about it. "Every key's got a flesh memory," she explained. "You know, kind of like a snitch. I couldn't give you another key, Harry, it wouldn't do much help to trade." Although he'd finally understood why the door handle had given such a radical shock when he'd tried to get in with his key on the first night, he still wasn't satisfied with the fact that he was expected to share a room with Malfoy and Zabini all year.

"Are you still planning to camp out for the next few months? At least we could figure out an engorgement charm on the room, fit another bed in there, maybe," Seamus mused, addressing Harry for the first time since lunch.

"No, he's going to grow up and sleep in his _own_ room, aren't you Harry," Hermione interjected, looking through her rucksack for a particular book. Harry sighed. Sometimes Hermione was a little _too_ dogmatic in her assertions.

"Alright, Hermione, I'll get right on that, and you can go share with Pansy Parkinson, it'll be one big Slyffindor party."

Hermione repressed a wince, and turned to face the boys with a fierce determination in her eyes. "If you're not going to be mature about it, Harry, then that's perfectly fine with me. Here I was thinking this was supposed to be an effort for _tolerance_, not a game of hide-and-seek!" Her face turned slightly pinker when the only one who caught the muggle reference was Harry. "The war ended last year, I thought we all _understood _that matter."

They were deadly quiet for a moment, but Ron retaliated before Harry had even thought about her words. "I can't believe you just said that, Hermione." Harry was expecting Ron's words to be raging, but there was a look of shock on his friend's freckled face that seemed out of place. He was sure their memory had immediately just switched to the grinning Fred Weasley. "How could you say we don't give a ruddy fuck about it----"

"I--- I didn't say anything like that, Ron, I just----"

"You meant it, I swear, you meant it."

There was a disgusted look on Hermione's face that didn't disappear even after she'd slapped Ron across his cheek. Harry noticed that she was trying her hardest not to tear up, but her eyes were threatening to water as she spoke. "How _dare_ you, Ronald Weasley, accuse me of insulting you that way." She was quiet. "I have as much respect for the dead as you or anyone else in this school does, and I regret that you don't have the same amount for the living!"

Neither Ron nor Harry could catch up with her as she stormed out of the corridor, making evidently sure that no one saw her now-streaked face. Harry was genuinely concerned, but Ron was already turning to walk out in the opposite direction. Confused as to how such a peaceful moment had turned typhonic, Harry jogged to catch up with the redhead. "What--- oy, Ron, stop--- what was that? What's been going on with you two?"

Ron didn't look at him, but continued his march down the hallway. "Don't look at me, Harry! I didn't start it! You heard what she said!" His usually pink face was a sunburnt red. "I can't believe she actually---- She's been like that since last year! Moaning and complaining--- _blimey_, Harry, it's like she's trying to be my _mother_----"

"Ron, you _both_ said some pretty harsh things, and---- fuck, mate, slow _down_---- and you two can't even be in the same room for more than five minutes without getting into a bloody argument," he said, trying to get it all in as quickly as he could before Ron decided to drop the subject. "Is everything alright, you know, between the two of you?"

Ron slowed, letting their pace drop to a meander, and seemed to be incredibly fixed on his shoes. "Yeah. Well, mostly. I don't know. She's just been so hard to keep up with," he admitted. "Best ass on a muggleborn, no doubt, and hell, Harry, she's always been my best friend, but . . . I don't know . . . "

Harry looked at his friend with a strange thought. The three of them had never managed to stick together when times got tough. Back in his first year, Hermione was estranged from them in most circumstances, but that was mostly because she was a know-it-all git. But then, in their sixth year, she'd fought with Ron to little avail. Ron in turn had left them during their seventh year in the woods. It wasn't that their friendship was that easily broken, right? After all, what mattered was that they always came back. He hoped they always would.

"Tell you what, you two can work it out this weekend, we can see a show or something," Harry suggested, referring to the trips that greatly reminded him of going into Hogsmeade, only much, much bigger. That was because, to everyone's excited approval, certain weekends were designated as city weekends, and they were encouraged to explore Manhatten to their liking. Personally, Harry was looking forward to getting out of the school, because little things began to remind him of how separated they were from their true home at Hogwarts: the corridors were _almost_ the same, and every moving portrait on the wall _almost_ resembled the ones in Harry's memory. He could've sworn he encountered a distant relative of Sir Cadogan, in fact; the landlord in the portrait followed him along stairwells and corners yelling explicatives while wearing a rather large feathered hat.

"Alright. I guess. I just don't want to get into it now," Ron mumbled. He turned to Harry. "You comin' to watch the match with us tonight? Puddlemere and Wimbourne, though we've all got our money on Wimbourne. They've been wicked all season," he said. Arthur Weasley, ever the curious wizard, had somehow gotten ahold of a beaten down television, and had charmed it to record every live game in the country as a graduation gift for Ron. It was the first useful thing he'd come up with, in Harry's opinion.

"Yeah, sure thing. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon alone, in an effort to avoid any further confrontation on the home front, and wandered into the school's library to work on Slughorn's paper. It wasn't anything like Hogwarts'; rather than bookstacks and shelves and rows that extended for kilometers on end, the entire library was in one open room. An _enormous_ open room. It must have been more than fifty meters tall, and every book was tucked into a shelf that encompassed the wall--- _how_ he'd find what he was looking for, he didn't have a clue.

He tentatively approached the wheeled ladder that was hooked onto the shelving in what seemed like a few stories above. He stepped onto the first rung, and nearly fell back off when a voice pointedly asked him "_Subject?"_. Harry stammered when he spoke, still recovering from the sudden question. "P-potions," he said, and felt like a first year again when the ladder grunted to a start and stopped in front of the appropriate section. He made a motion to climb, but again the voice asked him for a search term. After stating this, the rungs of the ladder began to ascend in an escalator-like motion, and before he could register what had just happened, Harry was more than twenty feet in the air, facing a row of books labeled _Potions; Natural Ingredients; Runespoor. _It was convenient, much moreso than scouring the Hogwarts bookstacks for subjects buried in books that may be irrelevant, but if Harry was not used to quidditch and its high elevations he would've lost his balance. He grabbed the first title in front of him. "Erm . . . I'm done." He must've said the right thing, because he was now de-escalating back toward the gold-tiled floor. He dismounted, turned around, and----

"For bloody Merlin's sake, Potter!"

---- plowed straight into Malfoy. Parchment, from Malfoy's end, flew maniacally upward, and Harry's book hit the hard tile with a _crack_!.

"God! Blind as a dementor, you moron? _Fuck,_" he said, hurrying to pick up his belongings, which had been thrown out of his sidebag upon contact with the ground.

Although Harry felt a strong urge to sock Malfoy a good one, he wouldn't have been able to very clearly, as his glasses had fallen in the impact. He instead opted to ignore Malfoy's tirade of insults, and he was reminded momentarily of Lavender Brown's incapability to shut up.

He fondled the ground, knowing that he probably looked the part of a complete idiot in front of Malfoy (why he cared about that at all, he didn't know), until he surprisingly was offered a hand. "Stand up, Potter, you look rather like a beetle scuttling around like that. I don't want that around me, thanks," Malfoy said, pulling Harry to his feet. For a moment, Harry thought the act was a little counterproductive, until he felt the distant warmth of his plastic frames being shoved into his palm. Did Malfoy just do something _nice?_

"Thanks," he muttered, putting his glasses back on and immediately noticing how yellow Malfoy's hair was in the wide stretch of sunsetting light. There was no such thing as _color_ around the Slytherin; when did _that_ happen?

"Is that all I get? No 'sorry, I didn't seem to notice I was a git' or 'are you alright, Malfoy, did I scar your face in the hope that we'd match'?" he said, heightening his voice in mocking.

"No. That's all you get." Harry looked around, and noticed that the majority of the parchment that Malfoy had dropped was already sorting itself neatly into piles on the nearest desk. "Though you have gotten pretty good at nonverbal magic, Malfoy. Teach you that in Dark Arts?" Harry said, referring to the seventh year he was never present for.

After he said it, Harry was confused. Malfoy didn't retort, but instead, he almost looked hurt by the comment. The words that followed were quieter and calmer than Harry could ever have expected. "Drop it. We don't need to discuss what's happened over the past two years when we were already there."

There was a silence. "Why are you here Malfoy?" Harry hadn't expected to say it out loud, but it was an honest question that he wanted an honest answer to.

Malfoy's tone reverted to his usual biting sardonicism. "Obviously, Potter, to write the same paper that you were assigned to write, excuse me if I needed a bit of reference---"

"---- I mean, here. With us. Why are you here."

Draco looked at him with a bit of disgust, but it faded as he slipped into a moment of thought. Harry felt rather awkward in the meantime, and wished he could retract his question.

"I want a job, Potter. Nothing more, nothing less."

Harry nodded slightly. Somehow, he didn't believe that was the whole truth.

The remainder of the night was spent in Ron's room, as nine boys cramped to see the black-and-white figures darting around the screen. "Look it's Oliver!" Dean said, pointing at the corner of the screen which had already cut to a different shot. "Where?" "Right there! The one in---" the screen flashed again--- "Wait, nevermind." Harry smiled. Ever since Oliver Wood was bumped up to a starting position for Puddlemere United, he couldn't help but feel he was trained by a celebrity. Wood taught him what a snitch was. Harry owed him a lot more than he'd ever realized.

"Five galleons says Hettock gets it in in the first ten minutes," Justin Finch-Fletchley said, staring enraptured at the screen. "Oy! Look at 'im!"

"No deal, last time they called a haversack on him---"

"Shit! Shit! Go! GO, you flying git, GO!" Ron was egging on the television in what was a sudden display of his excitement after Wimbourne's chaser Biggs hesitated for the quaffle.

"He's not going to make it, it's too much of a stretch----"

"My speckled arse, he won't, come ON, move!"

There was a sudden moment in which no one spoke, watching the screen with intensity, and then a millisecond after the audience roared on the television set, the boys did the same.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Come on, Ron, what did you expect!"

"Bloody Confunded him, that's what! He had it right there!"

Harry couldn't help but smile as his past quidditch captain blocked the shot, and the screen was now focused on his face, which was determined not to break out unprofessionally in a grin.

"It's Wood, what do you think he'd do? Let it sail right by him without a fight?" Dean commented.

This manner of conversation went on for quite a while before Harry noticed that someone was missing. He quickly did a headcount--- Ron, Dean, Seamus, Justin, Ernie, Terry, Michael, Anthony, and himself . . .

"Where's Neville?" he asked to the group, noticing that his fellow Gryffindor was not present. They in turn looked around the room, and back at Harry. "Dunno, he was in here earlier. Probably off with Luna," Ron said, fixing his attention back to the game.

Harry felt the need to confirm this. It wasn't that he didn't trust Neville could support himself in a dangerous situation, but his super-Potter senses were tingling, and he'd just graduated out of seven years of protecting his friends. He wasn't about to give up _that_ hobby anytime soon.

Unseen by the rest of the boys, he slipped out of the room, making sure to grab his invisibility cloak from his luggage. It was late, and had this been Hogwarts, Filch and Mrs. Norris would've been sure to be roaming the grounds in search of out-of-bound student wanderers. Slipping the cloak on, Harry descended the steps that were nearest to Ron's room, carefully noting that some of the portraits on the way down were still awake.

He approached the great iron-and-oak doors of the front foyer, and knowingly cast an "alohamora" before attempting to clank around with the handles. He didn't know why he felt the need to go outside, as he had little clue about Neville's location. In times like these, he really wished the Maurader's Map detailed more than the boundaries of Hogwarts.

There was a light breeze. Harry swore at himself for failing to throw on a jumper before he'd left the room, but it was no matter. He had the strange feeling that Neville was closeby, but he didn't want to overexcite himself in wrong anticipation. Stepping down the marble entryway, he looked around. It was a half-moon; there was a small amount of light making vision plausible. The bank was nearby, and he could hear the nightime roar of the river, and immediately pushed the thought that Neville might've never learned how to swim to the back of his mind. He walked, for how long he wasn't sure, until he made it up to the shallows of the river, feeling as though Neville was closer than ever----

"Harry? What are you doing out here?"

He nearly toppled into the river from the shock of hearing a voice behind him. Spinning around, he exhaled sharply.

"_Me_? I was looking for you! Where'd you go? You had me thinking you were dead or something----"

Neville cocked a grin. "No, not dead, not yet at least. Been out here collecting these"---- he held up a clear bag, through which a lot of circular slimy objects were visible---- "while they're still in season."

Harry felt himself gain a confused expression to blend into his worried one. "In season? While what's in season?"

"Runespoors, for potions, Slughorn told me I might enjoy finding them down here," he said in a light tone. "Of course, you've gotta get the eggs when they're not taking vigil, so that means at night, I guess."

Harry watched as Neville scraped up another handful of river muck and sorted through the findings. "Here, look." He held out a mud-covered egg, smaller than Harry had expected, that much resembled caviar.

"Alright. I lost my sense, there. As long as you're okay, mate," Harry said, patting Neville tentatively on the back, as his clothing was very wet and moldy after wading through the water.

"Yeah. I'm good. Go watch the game, it might be finishing up," Neville called out to Harry as he leaned over into the reeds. "I'm betting Ernie it'll be 350-80 by the time I get back."

Harry smiled. His radar might've been amazingly attuned tonight, and even though his panic mode had been going haywire since the end of the war, at least his intentions were in the right place. He still felt the pang of something being slightly _off_, but he threw caution to the wind as he made his way back up to the front gate.

Draco Malfoy watched him intently from a sixth floor window before closing the curtains to hide what no one was ever supposed to see.

* * *

Author's Note: Notice I'm blatantly ignoring the fact that some characters unnecessarily died in DH. And that Luna's actually a 7th year, not an 8th year. Whee! More soon. Lots of nothing to do next week, I promise =D


	5. A Proposition

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

It hadn't been any more than an hour before when Draco was awakened from what he considered a very necessary beauty sleep due to the quickened knock on his door. Groaning, he blatantly made the choice to ignore it, knowing that if it was Blaise, he had his key, and if it were Potter, the git could sod off. As far as Draco was concerned, any other visitor was of little to no importance, especially when compared to the comfort of his duvet cover.

The knock exponentially grew in volume, and after a good three minutes of the effort, Draco impatiently tossed the bedspread back and stormed to the front of his dorm room. "I do hope you know its eleven o'clock!" he'd managed, throwing the large wooden door open, the hundred-year-old hinges protesting in agony.

To his post-REM surprise, it was Hermione Granger who sheepishly looked back at him. The muggleborn prat appeared to have been crying for quite some time, as her face was much more unattractive than usual and her eyes were reddened beyond normality. Of course, he himself probably wasn't one to talk at the moment, as he likely resembled a house cat left out in a duststorm due to his nap, but it was of little matter to him. "What the bloody hell do you want, Granger?"

She sniffed in a fair amount of loose congestion, and immediately put on a ferocity that did not suit her facial expression whatsoever. "Harry needs to go back to his assigned room." Upon hearing this, Draco was taken aback, and almost felt the need to laugh.

"Excuse me Granger? I don't think that's your demand to make." There was a decent amount of contempt in his voice, as a.) he was just awoken from a dream regarding Parkinson's decapitation and an endless supply of grapes, and b.) Granger's "suggestion" was simply out of the question.

"No, but its regulatory, and I can and will report it to the instructors," she said, wiping a vagabond tear out of her left eye. "You all need to learn to grow up and get on with it."

"Let me guess," Draco started, leaning against the doorframe and parading a well-practiced smirk. "Potty ran down to the Weasel's room, and you've been in an upset with them ever since." He rolled his eyes. "I'm not surprised."

Hermione threw a glare in his direction. "You know, you could be a little more accommodating than that. It's more than likely _your_ fault that Harry feels the need to avoid his room. Personally, I'm amazed I'm even bothering to try talking to you."

"Likewise. And for the record, I didn't say a word to the git. He up and left on his _own_ accord," Draco emphasized. "Of course, you wouldn't have thought of that as an option. No, blame the Slytherin, as usual."

"I'm not blaming you because you're a Slytherin, I'm blaming you because you nearly managed to get us all killed last year-"

"And _that_ is where I choose to end this conversation, Granger. Goodnight." He attempted to slam the door shut, but she caught it before it latched.

"Look, all I'm asking is that you _consider_ doing something about it. It's-"

"-Not my responsibility. And as much as you may whine about it to the rest of your _golden trio_, it won't remedy the situation."

Hermione looked as though she was about to tear up again. "What if I did something for you in return? Then would you _think_ about it?"

Draco looked at her with a mild sense of curiousity. "What would you possibly have to offer me, Granger." In preference, he wouldn't have had anything to do with the mudblood whatsoever. She was an extension of Potter, and any extension of Potter was not welcome in his comfortability.

"Trust me, I think I have more than enough to offer."

And in a few minutes, the terms were agreed upon, and Malfoy moved to the window to shut the drapes just to be sure that no one noticed Granger was present. And, in record timing, he noticed none other than Potter himself passing by the window five stories below.

* * *

Harry begrudgingly made his way back up from the riverbed, both cursing himself for panicking about Neville and laughing about the activity his friend was participating in when he'd found him. If there was one thing he loved about his friends, it was their incredible range in personalities. He tried to imagine Ron in the same situation, sludging around in the watery thickets at midnight and cursing the universe for such a punishment. Hermione would probably put up with it, but years of Herbology had taught him her secret intolerance for anything overly-slimy. Dean and Seamus, if presented with the opportunity, would probably pull off a very Weasley-twin stunt by starting a "Runespoor Egg Fight". And he doubted the Slytherin foursome would even attempt touching the murky slop. No, if there was one thing he couldn't imagine in a thousand milleniums, it was a down-n'-dirty Draco Malfoy.

And that was something he was fairly certain he didn't even want to attempt to imagine.

He passed through the large front entrance and paced through the foyer. He wondered how the school, when it was open, introduced its first years to the castle. Hogwarts had always made a grand show out of the lakeside entrance, but Harry doubted it was possible (let alone safe) for a few hundred eleven year-olds to boat their way down the Hudson. He walked into the atrium, which was currently filled with streaming moonlight that shimmered through the overhead windows. It may not have been Home, but the place was definitely impressive.

If it weren't for the charms the place had on audible volume, Harry was sure he would've heard the rest of the guys upstairs reveling in the game's outcome. He started for Ron's room, but he'd already been out on the grounds, and the exploration bug had suddenly caught up with him. Nah, this really wasn't a game he particularly wanted to see (with the exception of Oliver Wood), as it was well known that Ron's team would lose for the fourth time this season. Instead, Harry made a left at the top of the atrium's stairs, and veered into the corridor. If it were any other year prior to this, there was no way he'd dare to explore the school's innards without the aid of his invisibility cloak, but he trusted his instincts on this one, and felt no need for caution.

The second floor held a series of doors that arched into what Harry assumed were classrooms. They often held training sessions in the opposite wing, which differed very little from this one, yet his location held a certain air of newness. There were even a few more passageways than the other wing offered, many of which were blocked up for reasons Harry could only identify as "safety precautions". Fred and George would've had a hayday.

Each floor out of the six held a series of closed doors, twisting stairwells, and large decorative windows that refused to open. He quickly lost track of his position because of it, and although no part of the school threatened to rearrange itself like the castle he was so familiar with, he found himself easily forgetting where he was and where he'd been. He made another immediate left, and found himself facing an iron door rather than one of the wooden variety. There were voices emanating from the opposite side.

Slightly startled, Harry leaned in to listen, but he could only make out the faint murmurs of what he assumed was the English language. There was a feminine voice conversing with a much more ashen sounding male voice, but the conversation was very subdued. He strained to listen in more closely, leaning his shoulder against the iron door, his hand reaching for the wand in his pocket, making out the words "ministry" and "contact" before he his weight caused the unlocked door to push open-

Hermione gasped loudly as there was a sudden _crack!_ and Harry tumbled to the ground. Draco's wand was still pointed in his direction by the time they had registered who their intruder was, but after a moment Hermione noticed this and shoved Draco's arm back down to his side. "Harry! Merlin's sake! What are you doing up here?" she asked frantically, moving to his side. "I swear, Malfoy, if your stupid jinx killed him-"

"Oh, sod off, it was just an Impediment curse, he's _fine_,"

"I don't care, your definition of '_fine_' is severely lacking-"

"Mione, please." Harry rolled onto his side, readjusting his glasses in the process. "I've suffered a lot worse from Colin Creevey in dueling practice." He'd definitely managed to do his left side a good one though, and he hesitantly stood up in an attempt not to feel the strain. "So, then, now that that's over. _What _the bloody_ fuck _are you doing up here with _Malfoy_?"

Hermione attempted to start her sentence, but Draco managed to cut in first. "It would be of very little interest to you, Potter. I suggest you keep your egotistical arse out of my dealings."

"Yeah, well I beg to differ, ferret boy. If she's up here, I'm bloody questioning the shit out of you." Harry glanced at Hermione, who seemed to be reasoning with him with her eyes.

"Harry, calm down. I'm fine. We were just," she hesitated for a choice of words, "talking some things out."

Harry didn't particularly like the answer she provided. "I wasn't aware you were on talking terms with any of us, Malfoy. Kind of goes hand in hand with the fact that I fried your Dark Lord a few months back." Hermione responded to this with another sharp intake of air. Harry's line of sight went directly to the tightened grip Draco had on his wand, but Draco didn't bite back, and for whatever reason, Harry wasn't sure.

"Alright, Potter, I'll tell you what. You make another remark regarding your role as a priest, and I'll curse you a good one. Because I'm _so much_ of a Death Eater fuck-up who, apparently in your eyes, would stoop as low as harming a classmate while in Ministry training. Got that?"

Draco's sarcasm didn't do much to quell Harry's blood at the moment. Hermione must've noticed, because she furthered the effort to explain. "Nothing happened, Harry, really. I was just about to leave." She motioned to the half open-air patio that they were on, which Harry had only now noticed was an owlery. "Just sending some papers."

Harry lifted an eyebrow. "What _kind_ of papers?"

"I already told you, Potter, that is none of your Golden Boy business. And besides, we should be the suspicious ones, you know, you eavesdropping and wandering around at midnight and whatnot."

"Call it a force of habit then, Malfoy."

"Clearly."

"The _point_ is," Hermione interceded, raising her voice above theirs, "What's done is done, and I'd like some sleep. Harry, you'll find that Ron's room is inaccesible at the moment. Your things were moved."

Hermione had put it so plainly that Harry almost missed what she said.

"What?"

"I'm so sorry Harry, but really, we've already discussed how ridiculous its been getting. You were _assigned_ to a room for a reason."

"Is that what's been going on? You've been up here figuring out how to move me?"

Draco replied flatly. "Actually, Potter, we were up here on other business. But of course, you'd think it's all about you."

"I am _not_ sleeping with _him_," Harry asserted, motioning to Draco curtly.

"You're passing up a good offer, Potter, quite a few people have expressed their wishes to _sleep with_ me."

"Geroff it, you know what I meant!"

"Harry, please," Hermione continued. "What's done is done. I'll see you in the morning; I have no doubt in my mind that you'll survive by then."

Harry grit his teeth. "Yeah, yeah." _But I'd have killed the twat by morning,_ he thought to himself.

"I mean it, _please_ don't murder each other. We're here for our careers, remember," she insisted.

Harry glared at Draco, who returned the favor. "Exactly what Granger said." And he offered a faint smirk that Harry couldn't trust at all.

* * *

The walk to their dormitory was not shared. Harry had left in a storm before either Hermione or Malfoy had the chance to exit the owlery, although he had regrets about leaving Hermione up there with _him_. This was _insane_. Absolutely bloody fucking _ridiculous_. He didn't know what to believe less; the fact that Malfoy insisted nothing seedy had happened between him and Hermione, or the fact that Hermione had actually instigated a "Harry-trade" with Malfoy. What had she been thinking? Sure, it wasn't as though Malfoy was the next rising Dark Lord, but he was definitely a spoiled arse fucker who had little to no consideration for anybody other than himself. And more than anything, Harry didn't trust him. Though there was very little that he believed Malfoy could and would do at this point in time, he didn't trust him.

And then it dawned on him. It was just like his sixth year all over again. He could keep a close eye on Malfoy if he shared a room with him. In fact, there wasn't much Malfoy could do if he didn't have the privacy of his room and closest alliances. Although the war had ended some six months prior, there were still many Death Eaters and dark wizards at large. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that Malfoy still had contact with the majority of them.

Feeling enlightened, Harry made the rest of his trek to the room with a sense of bravado, and feeling for his key (which he hadn't touched in over a week), he entered the room. Zabini was already asleep, and using the privacy to his advantage, he moved to the shower as quickly as possible.

* * *

Author's Note: Hooray! I'm writing again, after a month of doing nothing but packing up my place and moving home for the summer. Yay! How 'bout you guys? Summer going to treat you well? I plan to have this thing rolling, especially this month. Review if ya like, I'd certainly enjoy it. Thanks to those who've favorited and alerted! You guys get lemon bars. Congrats.


	6. Roommates

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

"Draco."

No reply.

"_Draco,_ please."

"Erngh."

"Do me a favor, and speak _words_, Malfoy," Blaise whispered at the side of Draco's bed, staring over at the body occupying what were originally Potter's sheets.

"Whaaat. Leaffme alone." The sentence mingled in between Draco's mouth and the pillows.

"When did Potter get back?" Blaise asked quietly, ignoring Draco, who he'd grown to learn was as stubborn as a child in the mornings. How the bloke survived a year concentric to Voldemort, he'd never have guessed.

Draco, who was fully enjoying the benefits of a fetal position, groggily readjusted his head. "Lassnight." And he gave a close-eyed glare at Blaise, or what Blaise had just asked, before rolling back onto his front. "Dnn rmnn mh."

"What was that?"

Draco looked up, annoyed, but complying. "I said 'don't remind me'." He paused for a moment, and glanced over his left shoulder to the furthest bed. Potter was facing the other way. "God, I was hoping it was just a dream, too."

Blaise watched Draco's fit of exhaustion before propping himself up again. "Well then. You're just going to have to learn to cope with it, I suppose."

"Me? Am I not the only one who despises Potter in this room?" Draco unwillingly sat up. "The last time I checked, you weren't entirely _thrilled_ with our given roommate."

Blaise sighed, leaning against the wall. "Frankly, I've stopped caring. I'm hardly in this room anyway. And unlike _someone_," he raised his eyebrows at Draco in mocking, "I don't wear my every bloody emotion on my sleeve."

Draco scowled in retort. "I do _not_ do anything of the sort."

"With the exception of covering up any negative emotion with that ridiculous dick-waddery of yours, I'd have to say you do." Blaise chuckled to himself, obviously winning. "So, might I advise you to keep a close eye on that. Potter will likely spend the majority of his days with his Gryffindor mates, so calm the fuck down."

Draco shot Blaise a look compatabile to a death threat, but he knew that Blaise was right. Potter wouldn't bother staying in this room if his life depended on it. No, in Draco's shamelessly self-interested mind, this room was _his_, and Blaise was a daily visitor. That in turn made Potter the daily pest. And seeing as how he couldn't exterminate the pest (no, sadly that was illegal), he'd have to learn to live with it.

As Blaise left the room to catch breakfast in time, Draco attempted to return to his dozing, but he quickly found this was impossible. He couldn't help staring over at Potter every few seconds, making sure that the Chosen One wasn't about to pull a fast one on him. Not that he expected him to. It was more of an irrational paranoia that had persisted since the war. Draco was lucky if he got a good night's sleep because of it, and there were very few people he trusted nowadays. Of course, he'd never completely trusted anyone, but he still kind of trusted his allies. Kind of.

Harry turned over, almost violently, and Draco flinched. After a moment's evaluation, Draco concluded that Potter was still asleep. He'd have to learn the difference between the "real thing" and "pretending" soon enough. For his own good. If this was in fact the real thing, Draco noted to himself, then Potter had a weird habit of sleeping _through_ the covers. Not under them, not on top of them, but tangled in a manner that suggested he'd tunneled through like a worm. And he also had a slight upturn to the end of his lips, as if he was just as bloody arrogant in his dreams as he was in reality. Like he was smirking. Draco'd had just about enough of that fucking smirk over the past seven years. Potter had flashed it after the first berk-ass thing he'd said on the train after Draco had offered him to come along back in their first year. Draco was pretty sure he hated him because of that alone.

Well, and he hated him because he was a flashy git with a penchant for whoring himself out for attention.

And then Draco's heart nearly stopped when Potter spoke out loud. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop staring at me, thanks."

What the _hell_? Draco could've sworn Potter was out for the count- he looked positively _dead_, before he started speaking.

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Potter," was the best Draco could come up with, his heart still catching up to the beats it skipped out on.

"I'll tell you exactly what you can and can't do, Malfoy." Harry sat up, yawning. Which only further infuriated Draco. "As long as I'm stuck in here with you, I'm going to be making sure of it."

"You just _can't_ accept the idea of me _not_ being up to something, can you, you arse?"

"No, I can't. You've already proved to me in the past that you're a slimy piece of shit."

Draco glared at Harry for a few strong seconds before throwing his bed covers off and standing up. "Alright then. Have it your way, Potter. I'll be in the shower, because apparently, I need to wash off a lot of my _slime._" And Draco succeeded in occupying the bathroom for the next hour and a half. This caused Harry to be incredibly late to combat training, where he saw Draco Malfoy quite enjoying Harry's verbal onslaught from Dawlish after walking in halfway through the lesson.

* * *

"So how'd it go in there last night? You kill 'im yet, Harry?" Ron asked, grinning.

"Come off it. You know I can't kill him 'til _after_ we finish training." Harry smiled. This was the first time all day he'd been in a somewhat pleasant mood, as he and Ron were busy trekking down the cobbled road to Lupin and Tonk's rented cottage. Hermione would've been with them, but after the last lesson, she realized that for once, she only had the subject matter pinned down ninety-percent instead of one-hundred and twenty. "Too bad," Ron had commented. "Keep on this track to failure, Mione, and you'll end up on the streets in a gang."

She'd said she'd catch up with them later, as the three were invited to dinner at their professors' house for the first time of the year. This was promised to be a frequent event, if things at the school ever got too "heated", as Tonks put it. Harry took it that this invitation was directed towards him, in almost a joking display of the situation he was currently in. "You know, fresh air and peach cobbler makes living with any dick seem better," she'd mentioned, giggling when Lupin put on an offended face.

As they walked, their steps crunched the fallen leaves from the row of trees overhead. The colors definitely made for a brilliant display in New England, and it was the only time he wished he had a camera on him. Other than that, he'd had enough of cameras for a long time to come, all courtesy of the Daily Prophet.

"So what the hell did Hermione do to convince Malfoy and Zabini to let you back in?" Ron asked, starting to sound a litle suspicious. "I mean, they're not the most agreeable guys in the world."

Harry snorted. "Hell if I know. But I guess it wasn't anything too crazy, or we would've gotten it out of her by now." He specifically chose not to tell Ron about stumbling into Hermione's and Malfoy's meeting the night before, as Ron would likely take it in a very harsh way. Their relationship was rocky enough as it was.

Harry really did want to believe that Hermione was telling the truth. She'd insisted that nothing _out of place_ happened between her and Malfoy, but there was a definite feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach that told him otherwise. What else would they be doing at midnight in a secluded area of the school?

_No, don't think about it_. Harry didn't want to slander his image of Hermione before he knew exactly what had occurred. It was definitely a trade of sorts, but what did Hermione have that Malfoy wanted?

Ron knocked loudly on the cottage's front door, jarring Harry out of his thoughts. "Merlin, that smells amazing," Ron commented as they waited for the door to open. Harry supposed Tonks had gotten a _lot_ better at cooking since the last time she'd attempted it.

The door creaked open and Lupin offered a smile. "Glad to see you could make it here, boys." He ushered them in, taking their coats and throwing them listlessly into the air, where the rack bent forward to catch them. "Where's Hermione? Not stuck in another library, I hope."

Harry smiled, and Ron rolled his eyes. "She's doing just that. Again." Harry explained with a grain of salt. "Can't change ways, I guess."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," Lupin grinned, amused by the thought. "At least you can guarantee she'll know more about treating paper cuts than anyone else in the class. Nasty little things, at that."

Ron and Harry smiled again, taking a seat on the couch, while Tonks looked out from the kitchen. "Oy, you here yet?" she said, and popped out of sight once more. She appeared a moment later with a tray of tea and cinnamon rolls, and set them down on the coffee table. Ron had no hesitation in taking one. "Teddy's up for a nap," she explained. "You can see him later if you want, I'm sure he'd be excited to see his godfather again."

Harry nodded. "Am I going to recognize him this time, or has he gone and changed his hair color again?" he asked jokingly, although in all seriousness he was legitimately curious.

"No, no. Still turquoise," Lupin assured him.

"Good," Harry laughed, taking a cinnamon roll for himself.

"How's everything going up at the school?" Tonks asked, setting back into her seat with a cup of tea. "Ooh- sorry, honey, here-" she mumbled, after spilling a hot slosh onto Lupin, who insisted it was okay.

"'S not bah," Ron answered, with a large amount of roll still occupying his mouth. "Luna founda cwrearing, we'h gunna crean it up into a quiddish pish," he said as he chewed.

"I'm not sure if I need a translation on that one," Tonks laughed, taking another sip.

"We're just going to play for fun out there, a few of us," Harry commented. "Most of us brought our brooms anyway."

"Do you want me to see if I can get some regulation equipment out there for you?" Tonks asked, seeming excited about the idea. "At least a few good quaffles or something."

"That would be great, if you could," Harry said. He needed to stay active, after all. The summer had left him feeling sluggish, and he doubted he could score a defensive job in the ministry if he couldn't even run the length of a pitch.

"Harry, how's it going in your room? I had a look at the chart the other day, and I thought it was a joke," Lupin asked.

Harry's enjoyment dipped a little. "Dunno. I haven't hexed anyone yet."

"I jus' sought that the rooms wern' co-ed," Ron said. "Don' know why they pu' 'Arry wif a buncha girls." They shared a good laugh at this, before Lupin continued.

"It's not necessarily the end of the world. You know, as the saying goes, you should keep your friends close-"

"-And your enemies closer, yeah. I just don't want to get _too_, close, you know."

"Hey," Ron started, swallowing. "I doubt you'll get any closer than fifteen feet anyway. You know, you're both probably allergic to one another."

"Definitely."

"You know, you both might end up learning something when this year is over. Not that I'd ever assume the son of Lucius Malfoy has the capacity to play nice, but you never know," Lupin said offhandedly.

"Yeah, right. Get along with Draco Malfoy. Like that will happen anytime soon."

* * *

The skies were already turning into a milky dark gray when Draco Malfoy paced the room in an attempt to think clearly. Alright. So he was a Malfoy. There was no denying that, he was definitely the son of his father. And his mother's "little boy". So, as a Malfoy, he should keep his composure. And his dignity.

But how the hell was he supposed to do that with Harry _fucking_ Potter living in the same goddamn room as him?

He'd surely find any incriminating information that Draco had to hide. Or, if he didn't, he might just resort to making it up. Draco wasn't sure which would happen first, but he knew something would come out of this one way or another. As long as Potter got the "recognition" he so constantly _longed_ for, and so constantly _got_, he'd be a happy little git, especially if it was at Draco's expense.

Blaise had asked him why he was panicking. Draco wasn't _panicking_, he was merely ensuring his welfare. His name was already slandered enough, and his one fresh start was invaded by Potter's bed. He hated him. He really, really hated Potter. In fact, he wanted to be in a different country than Potter entirely.

One thing was for certain, though. If he was ever caught _staring_ at Potter again, like he had this morning, no good would come out of it. Potter would surely consider him to be spying, if not worse. And Draco would have to face the consequences of being closely stalked by Potter for another year.

No, Draco would just have to avoid conversing with Potter at all. No matter how much his blood stirred whenever the git was around, and no matter how much his pulse quickened. And especially, no matter _how_ much he wanted to look at Potter's incredible eyes again.


	7. A Start

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

It was a Saturday afternoon. For many of the previous Hogwarts students, this meant the first weekend outing into an entirely muggle-populated community. There wasn't much of a chance for an easy transition into the scene, though, as the "community" was none other than the big city itself. For muggleborns and half-bloods, this might've been a much more leisurely visit, but for anyone of pureblood status, the experience was overwhelming. Ron Weasley insisted that the city was akin to "five hundred Diagon Alleys, but without Fred and George's place . . . blimey, Harry, these muggles sure are missing out."

Harry agreed wholeheartedly, as there was little that could possibly compare to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in _any_ world. But the city was hard to take in at first, even for him. There were just as many people on the streets as there were in London, but the city blocks were horrendous, and the endless rows of skyscrapers made him feel as though he were a miniature on one of Dudley's old train sets. He wasn't sure what he enjoyed more- the street vendors and the catcalling construction workers, or the expression on Draco Malfoy's face as he passed by them. That Little Lord Fauntelroy had mentioned time and time again about his family business visits to New York, but it hardly looked as though he'd ever stepped foot in the city.

"What are you gawking at, Potter? Didn't we agree not to acknowledge your godawful existence?" Malfoy said earlier, when Harry noticed a particularly hilarious instance in which a worker in a manhole commented on the "prettyboy's" graceful stumble over his helmet. One thing was for certain; Malfoy had a strenuous incapability to blend into the surrounding crowd. Even amongst the businesspeople, he was dressed far too sophisticatedly for someone his age, and a few times was mistaken for various popular muggle commodities.

The day had originally started out with a brief train ride to Grand Central, with Charlie Weasley spearheading the exploration into the city. After a bit of educated sightseeing (which included everything from the Museum of Natural History to a specified "study" of how muggles caught the attention of the passing taxi cab drivers. "It would be so much easier to take the floo, and I've _never_ enjoyed it myself," Seamus had mentioned after they split into smaller cliques for the remainder of the day's enjoyment. Luckily enough for him, Charlie told them that at the end of the day they were to report to a wizarding office near Midtown in the business district to floo back to the town near the school. This left Harry, Ron, and Hermione free to enjoy the day as it naturally unfolded, occasionally indulging in apparating when they were certain no one was looking. "I'd walk, but I have to agree with Ron that it would be utterly ridiculous to bother," Hermione said when the boys raised their eyebrows at her willingness to break the rules. "I get in enough of muggle transportation during my summers at home anyway."

"Makes me glad I was raised on a broomstick," Ron said, right before the loud _crack_ of the side-along interrupted him.

"If you were raised on a broomstick you would've caught a _lot_ more passes than you did in quidditch," Harry joked, though he couldn't help but fully believe in the content of what he'd said.

"I caught the ones that mattered! Besides, its in my blood, look at Fred and George-"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You know, they were great at hitting things. Maybe you took one too many beatings from them growing up. Caused a fear of flying objects or something." He grinned. "Would've gone for more quaffles instead of hiding from them, I reckon."

"Oh, get off it," Ron said, shoving Harry aside, but smiling nonetheless. "Least I was better than Ginny."

"Not really. She handled pretty well."

"I'm sure she handled a _lot_ of things pretty well," Ron commented, gaining the usual suspicious look on his face that showed up whenever he talked about the prospect of his sister dating his best friend.

Harry shrugged. "Its not like we've done anything, Ron. You and me went over this before, remember?"

Before Ron could answer, Hermione jutted into the conversation for the first time since she'd been trying to decipher her map. "I can vouch for that, Ron. And, by the way Harry, she's a little less than thrilled about that."

"What, that I haven't rushed her into anything? Sorry for giving her space, then," he said, slightly confused.

"You better damn well be giving her space," Ron mumbled.

Hermione sighed. "What I mean to say, or what she means to say, I suppose, is that you haven't been around much. She probably expects you to be more of a boyfriend and less of a, well, _boy _friend."

"You know I don't want to get her involved in anything crazy, Hermione. I've still got some anonymous death threats coming in by owl every now and then. Not that they mean much, but still . . ."

Ron momentarily paused, staring at a snack cart across the street in what Harry presumed was a decision about the deliciousness of its contents. He turned away after a few seconds' consideration, as he probably did not want a fourth hot dog at the moment. "I think Harry's doing fine. I'd be more wanked if he wasn't looking out for her safety," he said offhandedly.

"See? Ron knows what I'm talking about," Harry defended. It was an argument hardly worth using against Hermione, but two against one always won. Right?

"I know, I know, _I _understand where you're coming from. _She_ doesn't. And that's just going to have to be something you two work out." She folded her map and stuffed in her sidebag. "If you want to continue the relationship, that is."

Harry felt his face redden a bit. "What? Of course I do. I can't help it that I'm a good few thousand kilometres away from her at the moment."

"Well, we're here, why not make the most of it? You'll see her soon enough." Hermione double-checked a street address. "Do you two want to meet up with Charlie for lunch? He said he had to meet up with one of his Romanian coworkers, but I think he'd be done by now . . . " she questioned, to neither of them in particular.

Ron gave Harry a pat on the back before they answered, because Harry was clearly still stuck on the previous subject. "Yeah, I'm up for that, Mione. Give him a message thing," he said, nodding to her cell phone (which everyone had been given prior to getting off the train, as an addition to the "muggle experience"). Hers, however, was her own personal cell, so it was a little less modern than the ones that had been conjured up.

"Alright. 'What are your plans for lunch? The three of us would like to know.' Smiley face." Hermione looked up for a second. "Do you think he'd understand the concept of emoticons?"

"Emoto-_whats?_" Ron asked.

"Emotico- oh, you know what, just never mind," she said, ticking backward on the text message to erase the last bit. Harry laughed. Though he'd never been given a cell phone before, he was given access to the television and computer at the Dursley's after he'd become "threatening" enough to jinx them otherwise (or whatever rotter they believed he would do if he didn't have his way). He knew enough about technology to catch onto Hermione's frustration.

His mind, however, was still on Ginny. Was she really as upset about it as Hermione made it seem? He'd never really pushed too much physical contact on her, out of respect, and he wasn't about to put her in the line of fire via a relationship more serious than the one they had. If you could call it that. Four months without so much as a letter could and would put a huge strain on them, and though he could easily say he was missing her, he was doing just fine without having her around. Was he really that lackadaisical about her? He tried to imagine what he'd do if she was here with him, right at this very moment. _We'd probably eat lunch and have a nice chat._ That was about it. And he felt perfectly fine with that.

Maybe, just maybe, he considered her more a friend. He loved her madly, of course, and he certainly enjoyed snogging her when the time called for it, but it was never much of a thrill. It was a very comfortable love that never threatened to break, but he occasionally wondered if that was all there was to it.

"Charlie said he likes the idea," Hermione said, interrupting Harry's stream of thought. "Where do you think we should go?"

Harry's mind traveled to his brief interactions with the travel specials on the Dursley's television. "Well, we're closest to Times Square, there's a McDonald's, if we want to go cheap."

Hermione's face lit up. "Oh, we've got to introduce Ron and Charlie to the fast food world! Trust me Ron, I'm sure you'll love it. You eat enough disgusting junk as it is, no doubt."

"Hey, at least I eat _good_ food, not that rabbit chow you call salad."

"Yes, but keep it up and you won't be able to balance on a broomstick anymore," she recanted.

This carried on for quite some time, as the three made their way down Broadway, hardly noticing the bustling traffic and glittering billboards due to their shared laughter. Sure, they picked on one another on an hourly basis, but by now, they were family. Harry would never forget that matter. He'd known them for nearly a decade by now (a thought which allowed him a small nostalgic smile), and was not planning on deserting them anytime soon.

He'd honestly wished he'd paid attention to their surroundings, though, because they were now standing in front of a large-scale version of the restaurant's double arches. Harry's memory flicked back to his first meeting with Hagrid, in which the groundskeeper had bought him a hamburger before sending him back to the Dursley's on July 31st, 1991. Harry was sure he hadn't tasted a hamburger as good as that since.

And Ron, after ordering two Supersized meals and gawking at the value menu for nearly five minutes, would probably never taste food as "good" as his in a long, long time. "All this for only twenty dollars? This could feed my family for a whole ten minutes!"

"How could it possibly, Ron, when you yourself just annihilated it in five?"

He swallowed his last chunk of burger. "Hey, all I know is I gotta get in on some of this muggle food. Do we have this back home?"

"Yes, Ron, there's two near my house."

He stared at her with wide eyes. "I love you."

Their lunch with Charlie went well, most of it spent talking about training plans and travel ideas. He and Harry discussed Quidditch for a long while, a subject which easily began to bore Hermione, before Harry changed the subject for her sake.

"How's everything going with Bill?" he asked, as they hadn't heard much from him in a while.

"Or Fleur," Hermione added halfheartedly.

Charlie set down his chocolate shake. "Hell if I know. Haven't seen them since June, and that was a brief enough meeting itself."

"Is it true that Fleur wants to move? Back to France?"

"Yeah, but Bill doesn't seem too thrilled. Funny thing, though, he'd do it for her," Charlie said.

Harry nodded. "Ron here gets pretty barmy every now and then when Hemione's around."

Before Ron could answer in protest, Charlie spoke first. "I don't blame him. If I had me a girl, which mind you I would've if I'd stayed one more month in Europe, I'd take care of her like no other."

Both Harry's and Ron's face turned slightly pink in an expression of guilt. Ron hadn't been exactly cordial to Hermione as of late, and Harry, well, he was still working out his feelings for Ginny. He hope she hadn't complained about him to he rest of the Weasley family. That was one set of people he did _not_ want to fall out of favor with.

The conversation carried on for another ten minutes or so before it was decided that they should start making their way back to the school. It was already late in the afternoon, and there would be more city weekends in which exploration could continue. Ron and Charlie both ordered food for the road, and Harry refilled his Pibb before making his way back to the street. He checked the time on his cell phone. It was already four o'clock, and the traffic was getting worse by the minute. Workers were jostling for their usual ways out of town, as nobody in their right mind would attempt to drive in the madness (Harry briefly thought of the Knight Bus, but that was another stomach-churning experience entirely). They began to walk back towards the way they came, and had Harry not fumbled when putting his phone back in his jeans pocket, he never would've had the chance to see Draco Malfoy briefly shaking a man's hand as he got out of a towncar. The scene was all too suspicious, as Malfoy then glanced around, reached for his wand, and turned on the spot in the midst of a large crowd of pedestrians. He was alone.

"Ron!"

Harry motioned ferociously for his friend to come over. "Ron, come here, did you see that?"

Quarter Pounder with Cheese in hand, Ron kneeled down to Harry's level. He took a bite, and looked in the direction Harry had pointed. He chewed. Harry thought that for a split second, Ron had seen it too. ". . . _Blimey_, those buisinesswomen have wicked behinds."

And Harry's hopes died. "No, moron, Malfoy! Did you just see what just happened?"

Ron gave Harry a look that suggested he was insane. "C'mon, mate, Malfoy again? Unless he's killed a bloke, or killed himself, I really don't give a fu-"

"- He might have, for all we know! I just saw him get out of a man's car, it looked really shady-"

"So _what_, Harry, then Malfoy's a prostitute, does it really matter?" Ron asked him in all seriousness. "Does it _really_ matter?"

Harry's speech slowed to a halt. He looked at Ron. Harry already knew the answer that Ron wanted to hear. He wanted him to drop it. And even a small part of Harry told himself that his suspicions were ridiculous. "No. I guess it doesn't."

"Right then, mate, let's get going," Ron said in a lighter tone, slapping Harry on the shoulder and standing back up.

They walked ahead a few steps, Ron hurrying to catch up with his older brother. Harry wouldn't give up thinking about the subject, at the very least. What business did Malfoy have in the city? Then again, Harry couldn't think of a reason he or any of the Slytherins would've gone on the trip in the first place. They already had money coming out of their arses. Why would they bother with another year of training?

And then Harry found it. A small business card, right where Malfoy had gotten out of the car, was on the curb. Making sure neither Ron nor Hermione saw him steadily increasing his lag behind them, he picked it up. Both sides were blank.

He held his breath, and tapped it with his pocketed wand when he was _absolutely_ sure no one was looking. Slowly, but just as Harry had hoped, words formed on the front face of the card, written in shining gold ink-

_The United States Embassy of Magic _

_Department of Inter-Ministry Delegation _

_Leopold S. Rhiner, Chair_

_

* * *

_

"What the hell were you doing today, Malfoy?"

Harry barged into the room, nearly throwing his things at the floor, before waiting for Malfoy to answer. The blonde was reclining on top of his bedsheets, still dressed just as nicely as he had during the day, and was currently investing in a novel.

"Excuse me, Potter, but you're not going to get a response from me when you shout like that," Malfoy said calmly, turning a page.

"Don't give me that, you git. You weren't with your usual blood-bretheren when I saw you earlier, and you're not with them now," Harry said in a demanding voice. True, this wasn't the way he wanted to corner Malfoy into talking, but he'd been obsessively thinking about the situation on the way back to the school, and on the way up to the sixth floor, and on the way to his door- point in case, he wasn't pulling this off as smoothly as he'd hoped.

Malfoy didn't look up. "I'm sorry, _detective_, but I happen to value my time alone, and they had _other_ things to attend to."

Harry felt his blood rise to something of a boil, but he had to control his voice or else Malfoy was going to win this one. "I'm sure they did. Takes a lot to keep up with all the other slime out in the world, does it?"

"You would know better than I would, as you're so bent on eradicating all the _slime_ like me," Draco said with a sneer. "And I don't much appreciate you spying on me, Potter."

Harry took a seat by the desk. "You make it too easy."

In truth, he did. Harry had spent his entire sixth year at Hogwarts watching the blonde's every move, and by now, he had become quite predictable. As far as Harry was concerned, he already knew exactly what Malfoy was up to in the city. It was just a matter of getting him to say it. Otherwise, Harry would go insane trying to get it out of him.

"Alright, Potter, let's assume you watched me participate in some sort of _illicit _affair. One, if you were able to spot me in a city as large as New York, I can assume you've been following me, which constitutes as harassment. Two, I was with my usual lot for the entirety of the day, which means you're a liar. And three, if I'd managed to set off your hero-alarm in any manner, you've got a horrible judge of character."

Harry knew Malfoy had a point with most of that, but he still had a nagging feeling that something was off. It was then that he remembered he still had incriminating evidence in his pocket.

"I don't suppose you'd know what _this_ is, then." He flung the business card at Draco's bedspread, where it rested face-up.

Nothing happened for a second, until Malfoy's face gave away the card's recognition. He looked utterly shocked that Harry had found it, and wouldn't take his eyes off the card until he answered. "No. I don't."

"Come off it, Malfoy, don't be a liar. That makes you a hypocrite."

"I don't know what it is."

Harry was getting frustrated. "Shut the hell up, Malfoy, and tell me where you got it from!"

"GIVE IT UP, Potter!" Malfoy's voice was becoming ricketed with what Harry could only recognize as hurt. Still, he stepped towards the boy, and stood over him to get direct contact.

"Malfoy."

"Shut up! Get the bloody hell out of my face, will you?"

Never in a thousand years would Harry have predicted seeing what he was seeing now. The blonde wasn't looking at him, and was resting his forehead on his knees. "Please. Just . . . please." Harry couldn't believe it. He'd caught him crying.

Eight years had passed since Harry had met Draco Malfoy, and each and every one of those years held a load of contempt for the Slytherin that wouldn't pass even if the git saved a busload of children from a burning building. This was a truth Harry had upheld in the deepest parts of his gut- so why was he feeling so _almost_ sympathetic?

" . . . You need to tell me what you were doing." Harry said testingly. Malfoy looked up at him in a jerk, a stinging expression on his face.

"_Why_, Potter? _Why?_ So you can smear my name like you've been trying to do since Hogwarts? So you can have all the bloody fucking glory you want? You've already done it all!"

Harry didn't know what to say.

"You _seem _to _think_, Potter, that I'm on some sort of fucking dark mercenary mission to blast the world to pieces! You don't give a yellow rat's arse if I'm here to actually train or not- hell, you'd rather me be locked up with my father than _consider_ that I'm trying to make a fucking _future_ for myself-"

"- I never said anything like-"

"- Yeah, well, go ahead and deny it then, Potter!"

Again, Harry didn't know what to say.

"Alright. Fuck it. I'm done." And Malfoy rolled over on his side, sniffing the last few words out. His eyes were red and wet, and he shook his head. "I'll go home, then."

There was a moment that passed, occupied by Draco's stifled coughs and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. "Malfoy."

He didn't answer.

"Malfoy, come on. You can't blame me for not trusting you. Look at last yea-"

"I told you, Potter, I'm done

Another silence passed, and Harry nervously counted seventy-three ticks of the clock.

Malfoy spoke. It was quiet, almost as if it were to himself. "I got an offer. The Embassy. They offered me a partnership with the chair. To help me out with the Ministry back home, you know."

"You what?"

"Thank Granger for me, will you," he said passively.

Hermione? Hermione had set it up? Was that what had happened the other night in the owlery? Harry couldn't believe it. Why would she do something so drastic as putting a Malfoy back into the Ministry?

But then, as Harry thought about what Malfoy had just said, he considered it all. Maybe Malfoy _was_ here for the same reasons he was. After all, Malfoy had always seemed drained by the war and scared to death of his family's "friends". Maybe, and this was a big maybe, he was okay with starting over. Just like the rest of them.

"And that's what this was all about?" Harry asked.

"Rub it in if you must." Draco's temperament was calming down.

Then, Harry realized, Malfoy hadn't been lying out of wrongdoing. He'd been lying out of subtlety.

"You're a git, Malfoy," Harry eventually said, but he gave him a small pat on the shoulder, his hand coming to a rest longer than it usually might've. Draco didn't cringe.

"Go to bed, Potter."

Harry almost smiled.

They had a long way to go before he would ever feel comfortable with him in the same room. But for now, it was a start.

* * *

Author's Note of Hallo-ing: Hallo! Planning on having Chapter 8 out soonishly. Internet where I'm at is down, so that'll delay it a bit (I finished Ch. 7 earlier this week, for example). Hang with me and you'll get goodies. And nachos. Mostly that. Thanks to everyone who's keeping the spirit going by reading and reviewing!


	8. Agreements

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

The next few days were incredibly strange. Harry half-expected Malfoy to ignore him altogether (as that was currently what Harry was concentrating on doing to _him_), but the same tirade of snide comments seemed to be coming from the blonde as if little to no breakthrough of trust had happened. Of course, Harry didn't really pay attention to how few and far between they were, because he was already used to tuning out idiocy (Ron) and matter-of-fact speech (Hermione) when he needed his own time to think. So, okay then, Malfoy wasn't as bad as he usually was- but why talk to Harry at all? What need was there to continue any conversation with each other now that they had come to a mutual understanding that neither was out to murder the other?

"God, Potter, you're getting it all over the place," Draco commented as Harry returned from an improvisational quidditch game in the fields. Mud, mucus, and some other fluids coated Harry's trainers as he made his way toward the bed. "Didn't you ever learn any _proper_ manners? It's like you're a bloody dog, for Merlin's sake."

Harry smiled to himself. If he was going to be referred to as _any_ animal, he'd take a dog over whatever else Malfoy could come up with _anyday_. A big, shaggy, black dog. The kind he started to really like being around after his third year at Hogwarts.

He ignored the majority of what Malfoy continued to say. "We made a pitch. It's not as big as the old one, but it's pretty great," he commented, more to himself than to the other boy. He kicked off his shoes, letting little bits of grime flick onto the surrounding bedspread. He stifled a grin when a large glob of it landed on the carpet near Malfoy.

"Really? Really, Potter? It's near my books- get up you git! _Really_, you're just going to leave it all there?" he said, with a disgusted look on his face. Upon realizing that Harry was more than likely _not_ going to do anything about it, he took out his wand and cast a quick _scourgify_. "You enjoy that, don't you."

"What?"

"Wallowing in filth! For one, it's all over your clothing. Not to mention you still take up occupancy with the Weasley family. Is that where you get it from?"

Harry knew better, that this was just a sharp-edged comment to get through to him, but he was off the bed and threatening to pummel a fist into Malfoy's pretty face in less than a second. "I swear Malfoy, if you don't shut up, I _promise _you y-"

"-Promise me what? You promised me you'd sod off and leave me alone for the rest of the year. I doubt causing me corpeal damage constitutes as a part of your promise."

Harry said nothing for a moment, and in a stage of cooling down, let his hand drop to his side.

"That's right. Acknowledge the fact that yet again, Potter, you're acting like an ape. I'd appreciate it if you didn't feel the need to maul me at any given time. Though," he said with a sardonic smirk, "I'm glad I could get that much of a reaction out of you. Easy, are we Potter?"

"Shut up. The only reason I haven't already done you in is because I was raised with the voice of Hermione in the back of my head." As Hermione would say, _This isn't conducive to our studies! Career, Harry! CAREER!_

"Whatever you say, Potter."

"Git."

"Arse."

* * *

Three days was hardly enough time to call Harry Potter a friend, especially if your name was Draco Abraxas Malfoy. But, funny enough, that _was_ the name of the body that was currently pacing the walk outside of the local tavern, waiting for one very unnecessary Pansy Parkinson to finish paying inside (if she'd "had the choice", she'd told him, they would've just walked out without giving it a second thought, but Draco "wasn't himself these days" and insisted they actually pay for their drinks). No, three days was hardly enough to even stand being in the same room with the Boy Who Lived for longer than an hour. How he'd managed to resist breaking out into hives was another matter entirely.

The oaken door of the tavern swung open as Pansy swaggered outside, receipt in hand. "Five and a half galleons for _that_ hog piss? That was the _worst_ gin I've had since Crabbe brought in that stash from home back in our fifth year," she spat, "and you _know_ nothing could possibly be worse than anything he's managed to get his hands on."

Draco eyed her passively as she pocketed their recently manufactured ID's. She'd gotten prettier since their fifth year, as she so accurately described it. Or maybe it was just the beverage in his system, annihilating his brain cells. Either way, he did take notice of quite a few things. She'd begun to grow her hair out, matching the acquisition of girth in her breasts that allowed her to pass as twenty-one in the first place. Despite this, there was simply no way he was attracted to her. They'd already tried that once, the going-out thing, but she was either too unappealing or too ridiculously annoying for him to pursue her any further. Not to mention the recent . . . ideas he'd been getting. Those began to crop up back in school, so who knows, maybe she was the one to turn him off from dating altogether. Simply put, he was not a candidate.

Pansy, on the other hand, refused to think that it was over between them. Between the horrendous name-calling and uncomfortable body language, she had little clue that he was already playing for the other team. _No- no, I am NOT acknowledging that,_ Draco decided. If he could squash those thoughts, they'd go away. Unfortunately, Pansy Parkinson did not.

And neither did Potter.

"So," Pansy started, nearly reading his mind. He knew she wasn't sharp enough for Legilimency, so it had to be pure coincidence. "How are you and Blaise surviving up there with Snotter?" She picked at her fingernails absentmindedly. "Have you slit his throat yet? Oooh, better yet, have you _done it_ yet?" she mocked, and thankfully was looking in the opposite direction as Draco's face went hot.

"_What?_" He cleared his throat in something of a cough. "You," he started, quickly stifling a stammer, "You've got to be daft. Have I _what?_"

Pansy looked over at him and laughed a tinkly sort of noise. "Calm _down_, Draco, I'm just taking the mickey out of you," she said. "Dear god, you've been so excitable since last year."

"Yes, well, can you blame me?" He pocketed his hands in his overcoat and let out a sigh. Thankfully his face was growing cool again. No, things really hadn't been going the way he'd hoped in terms of recovery from paranoia. There was only so much he could do to relax, nowadays, and spending time with Pansy was definitely not on his list.

She made a puckered sort of frown that made her look like a frog that'd been stepped on. He took it as a sort of sympathy. Or at least as much sympathy as Slytherins could genetically give out. "No, I suppose I can't. I'm not the one with a father in Azkaban, so I wouldn't know."

"I don't take that lightly, Parkinson."

"Yes, well, no use avoiding the truth. We've been friends for how long? I should at least reserve the right to talk about whatever I'd like around you."

"Never stopped you before," he groaned.

She smiled, flashing her incredibly white teeth, and wrapped an arm around Draco's waist. _Never understood personal boundaries, either, _he commented internally. But he let her lean against him, for security's sake, and continued on.

"I don't suppose you'd have any restrictions about talking strictly Potter, then, since you brought it up earlier," he said, testing the waters. No, he wasn't about to admit anything risky, but he did want to present an idea that he'd been muddling around with in his mind for the past few weeks.

Pansy looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "It's always Potter with you. Since first year. Potter _this_, Potter _that_- I'll admit I'm a bit jealous!" she said with a smile. "Alright, I'll bite. What is it _this_ time?"

"You were the one who brought it up!" he scoffed. "I'm merely reinstating the subject."

"Whatever, go on."

"Well," he said, holding in his latest breath a little longer than usual, "Let's just say that I have this incredible feeling that he's going to destroy everything I'm working toward. Or, he's just going to destroy me. Or go _golden boy _on our arses again. Something like that," he said, realizing he sounded ridiculously foolish and entirely un-Draco like, at least in terms of his usual pomp.

"Okay. Your point?"

"Am I the only one who wants him dead right now?" he smiled halfheartedly.

Pansy giggled. _Disgusting sound, that is,_ Draco mused. "Well, for the record, I could care less about Potter and the rest of his lot," she started. "But, if I were in your place, which I am most certainly glad I am not, I would probably have already hexed the shit out of him."

"Good to know," he said.

"But, really, Draco, I can't blame you. He killed our Lord, put your father behind bars, and Merlin knows what else-"

"-Just don't, Pansy."

"Hey, remember, I'll say whatever the bloody hell I like. We established this three minutes ago." She was smiling again, like this was all _fun and games_. "Back to what I was going on about. I'd be upset too if I was stuck up in a room with someone like Granger. But that's mostly because she's arse ugly."

"But you're _not_. You've no comparison to go off of," he said.

"Look, do you want my opinion or not?" Pansy stopped, pulling away from Draco's shoulder. "I can imagine what it'd be like, at the very least. I can understand that you're horribly _distraught_ about it all. But my best advice to you would be to simply suck it up, Draco. Trust me, it's a load to take in, but in the end, it won't kill you. Not any more than it would kill me to live with a mudblood. I would off myself first before I let it get to me."

Draco glared at what she was saying. "I might do just that, if it gets any worse."

She sighed, returning to her giddy state of alcohol-induced sublimity. "Do what you like. For all you know, you could end up on cordial terms by the end of this thing," she said. "Imagine that. My Drakey and poo-poo Potter friends!"

Draco snorted. "Yeah, and then we'll be flying away to Monaco together on the tail of our broomsticks, holding hands and baking fucking cookies. No, that's not going to happen anytime soon, Pansy." Though, again, the thought brought up one of those _feelings_ that he didn't plan on having. He really, really needed to take care of that nasty habit.

"Oh well. I tried." She sauntered ahead of him by a few paces, and after about a minute of walking through town like this, she turned around to face him, so that she was literally marching backwards. "You know, you can just say it. I wouldn't laugh."

He contorted his forehead in confusion. "And what exactly are you going on about?"

She crossed her arms. How she was managing to avoid passerbys in such a state of inadequate awareness for her surroundings, Draco had no clue. "If you're fond of him, just say so," she answered, a small shadow of a smirk on her lips. This, of course, caused Draco's pulse to speed up ever so slightly.

"What part of what I just told you didn't you understand?" he went on. "I absolutely _cannot_ stand him! In fact, just this morning, he was nearly ready to pummel me into a wall! If it weren't for his unwavering _heroism_, he would've gone through with it!"

"Draco."

"What! I'm telling it to you like it is. If I had an ounce of interest toward having Potter as a friend, it would've been swallowed up by the fact he's a raging git," he huffed.

Pansy ignored him for a moment, and resumed picking at her fingernails. "But that's just it, isn't it. You don't have an interest toward him _as a friend_."

Draco used every last bit of will he had to keep himself from reddening at the prospect of what she'd just said. "You've got to be kidding me, Pans."

She didn't answer, but instead eyed him carefully. Whatever she was looking for in him, she gave up on in a small instant. At least, that's what Draco hoped for.

"I think you already know that I know the answer." Aside from that being a typical Pansy answer, he didn't know how to respond. She should've, in theory, been easy in terms of pulling wool over her eyes (wait, no, he didn't need to do that! He wasn't lying because he wasn't _gay_!) but somehow she'd caught on to something that Draco didn't expect.

"No, I don't," was all he could come up with. He found that his hands were content on wringing out the seam of his pockets.

She squinted at him with something Draco supposed was disapproval, but she grabbed him by the hand and drug him forward anyway. "Come on," she finally said. "Let's go grab something to eat. I feel like I'm going to chuck a good one ever since that last shot."

If it weren't for Pansy's magical ability to drop a subject and hide it for months, Draco would've likely talked himself into admitting something he wasn't ready for. Thankfully, he was already being led down the cobbled road to the nearest deli, which was already being lit up by lamplight.

Maybe, and this was a strong maybe, Pansy Parkinson was an alright person. Maybe.

* * *

Draco Malfoy did not return to the dormitory until midnight. Thanks to a long night of debauchery (Pansy's treat), he wasn't exactly in ship-shape when he returned. Harry immediately took notice of this as soon as Malfoy had walked through the door (or, moreso leaned through it) and had to take a break from his essay. Blaise Zabini, as effortlessly evasive as he already was, was absent for the second night in a row due to what Harry assumed was "enjoyment" with Daphne Greengrass. It was definitely a thought he didn't want to mull around in his mind.

Luckily enough for Harry, this meant that he had all the time in the world to finish his work, and was actually making sufficient progress on it until a certain nuisance broke in. There was a brief silence as both of them registered exactly what the other'd been doing, before Draco was the first to speak. "What the bloody hell are you up to, Potter?"

Harry was taken aback, not because of Malfoy's question, but because in the manner he asked it. He wasn't facing the opposite direction like he usually was, but was standing full-front and looking bemused as if Harry was the most disturbing thing he'd ever seen in his lifetime. "Erh- 'scuse me?" he stammered. "I was trying to work on this essay, at least before you came in." He looked at Malfoy, who looked very much unlike himself. His usually meticulous hair was a little more than un-meticulous, and most of his clothing had run ragged. He also appeared to be nearly soaked from the trousers down. "I should be asking you the same thing, Malfoy."

Draco gave a characteristic sneer, and turned toward his armoire in a haste. "If you _must_ know, as I'm sure your genes as a _private eye_ will demand, I had a less than fortunate night with Parkinson."

Harry had to repress a snigger. "You make it seem as though you were run over by a train."

Again, Malfoy made a quick airy sound of disapproval as he sorted through his hangers. "Might as well have been. Got us both drinks earlier on, but apparently she couldn't handle the third round at the third barstool," he swore.

"So she got sick, then?"

"Worse. She threw me into the river."

Harry stared in an extremely good humor while Draco finished hanging his coat and drying the rest of his clothes via wandwork. After this, however, he turned and caught Harry smirking.

"What! Things happen, Potter, get over it! Not that you and any of your disturbing hodge-podge of friends would know. If you all weren't such perfect little _angels_ all the time, you might have a bit more _life_ experience."

"I'm sorry, I'm just extremely entertained by your explanation. I didn't think a Malfoy could ever be the subject of anything . . . well, anything-"

"Spit it out, Potter! God, you're like a kindergartner at times," Draco interrupted.

"Anything funny."

Draco stared at Harry in contempt. "Think it's _funny_, do you? Let's throw _you_ in the Hudson and see how you fare! It'll be a great big Potter Pool Party!"

Harry didn't think it would be all that bad of an idea. When Spring rolled around, he'd suggest it.

"And for the record, Malfoy, I've been up to more _life_ experience with my friends than you'd know."

"I doubt that."

Harry decided to drop the subject for the time being in order to finish a sentence on his roll of parchment. He thought about what had just happened. Did he and Malfoy just have a palpable conversation? Sure, it was riddled with insults, but they were actually cohesive to one another, and when put together, made _sense_. And to Harry, that didn't make any sense at all.

A few minutes of silence followed in suit. Malfoy had voiced that he was too exhausted to bother with a shower at this late of an hour, let alone after taking a bath in the shallows. Harry didn't exactly reply to any of it, as he'd quickly figured out that Malfoy commonly talked to himself. It must have come with the package of living alone in the Malfoy Manor (sure, his parents were probably home most of the time, but nowadays, that was impossible as far as Harry knew). He let him finish his routine for bed before he was almost ready to stash his essay away.

"What? You're finished already?" Draco asked unceremoniously.

Harry looked up momentarily, then back down at his parchment. "Nope. I'm stuck."

"What do you mean, you're 'stuck'?"

Harry made a motion with his shoulders. "I dunno, I'm stuck. Can't think of what to cover next, I guess."

"I don't follow."

At first, Harry thought that Malfoy was giving him a hard time, but after a moment's realization, he recognized that Malfoy _had_ always been at the top of the class, right under Hermione. Did this mean he was unfamiliar with the average man's Theory of Procrastination?

"I mean, I can't go forward from this point. Not right now."

Draco began to look annoyed. "What? How difficult could it possibly be? You look at your research, and you write sentences. The end."

Harry, in exasperation, shoved the essay in his direction. "Fine, whatever. You take a look at it and finish it for me."

Despite the obvious disgust on Draco's face, he scraped the parchment up in his hand and began to read. "Oh no, Potter, don't tell me you're turning this in." He skimmed a few more lines. "The majority of this is all wrong."

"What do you mean it's wrong? I took it all out of this book right here!"

Draco caught the book by its spine when it was tossed to him. He read the title quickly, and rolled his eyes at Harry. "Seriously, Potter? This was published in 1858. Didn't you bother to find a more _recent_ reading?"

"I didn't exactly think about it after running into _you_ at the library," Harry snapped back. He squinted, and took a deep breath that suggested he was about to do something very, very hard for him. "Okay, then. If you're so deliberately critical of my work, why don't you help me out with it, and then maybe we can both shut up for the night?" For a second, he couldn't believe what had just come out of his own mouth. Asking Hermione for help was bad enough, but _Malfoy?_

"At the risk of being associated with a complete dunce, I might." In all honesty, that wasn't Draco's only reason for considering the offer, but he wasn't about to delve into any of that just yet. He scanned the paper once more. "But this is going to be a project, surely."

"As long as it's done, I don't care."

Draco sauntered over to Harry's side, and made a very tall fortress out of the books that had been spread out across Harry's bed between them. "You. Open this," Draco said, handing Harry something he hadn't yet read. "You know, Potter, you're going to owe me a huge one after this."

"I know." Just as long as neither of them told anyone what they were doing. No one, under any circumstances, would know that Potter and Malfoy were in the middle of a bartered tutoring session. _Nothing_ could ever be worse than that.

Harry awoke the next morning to a very comfortable stream of sunlight and the warmth of Draco Malfoy sleeping next to him in bed.

* * *

A/N: JUST HAD A SCARE. Logged into my old account from MIDDLE SCHOOL (yeah, folks, long time ago) and freaked out when I saw I had no stories. The username is nearly the same thing, hence my confusion. Very scary indeed. On a brighter note, I UPDATED! After two and a half months. Sorry guys! Drum corps, and a LOT of it. Will start writing more soon and updating on a regular basis, I'm moving into my apartment tomorrow which means faster internet! If it's hooked up correctly, that is, lol. Review if ya like. More fun times soon!


	9. Friends

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

Had it not been for the slight nudge that the body next to him had made, Harry would have never woken up as early as he did. He was already quite comfortable, and was content in his dreams of sundaes from Florean Fortesque's and lifetime tickets to the World Cup. The subject matter didn't really resonate anything other than absolute happiness, and if he'd had the choice, he would've slept until they dissipated completely, but for some reason his visions kept blinking in hints of blonde and gossamer tones. It was very, very warm. Warmer than he usually was when he slept. It was soft, as though his sheets were breathing. The flicker of yellow was like candlelight, off and on in his cool gray depths of unconsciousness, until Harry realized that the vision of blonde was hardly a subject of his dreams - it was next to him . . .

For a split second, Harry didn't panic. In the farfetchedness of that moment, he wanted to pull the body closer to his own, to act on impulse and listen to instinct. To claim it.

And then, opening his eyes wider, he shook himself out of his stupor. Draco Malfoy was sleeping next to him.

No, _worse_, Draco Malfoy was sleeping _with_ him, _in_ the bed, _under_ the covers.

Harry swore loudly as he nearly toppled backward off the left side. This caused an incredible amount of noise, and Draco mumbled something as he slowly blinked his eyes open. "God, Potter, can't you keep quiet for a night?"

Harry didn't answer as Draco quickly realized his location. "What the bloody fuck are you doing in my bed?" He heightened himself, propping himself on his elbow. "Potter? What are you getting at? Get out!"

"Me? _Me?_ This is _my_ bed you thick wad! Mind telling me what _you_ were doing in it?" Harry nearly stammered on the latter part of his sentence. This was _not_ the way he'd expected to wake up this morning!

Draco sneered characteristically. "Excuse me? Don't tell me you've gone wrong in the head, Potter! You-"

Draco cut himself off as he oriented himself for the first time. " . . . You . . . " he mouthed. Harry couldn't tell what was going through his mind, but it became very obvious that Malfoy realized his mistake. His light skin gained a very deep shade of salmon (something that Harry never thought possible) as he quickly threw the sheets off "his" side and stood. Before Harry could say anything of relative importance, Draco was already out the front door with a _slam!_, just as frazzled as he'd looked a second ago.

Harry paced the side of the bed. What had happened last night? He couldn't even remember anything after they began to revise his essay. How far had they gotten again? Thirteen inches of parchment? When had they fallen asleep?

And then it dawned on him. He'd been the first to pass out last night. Somewhere inbetween Malfoy's lecturing from the book and the incredible feeling of the pillows on his neck, Harry had managed to drift off. He remembered now, because he'd noticed a small tear on the back of Malfoy's jumper. He noticed a lot about him last night.

_Sod off, Malfoy!_ He wasn't supposed to be this close to him, _ever_. It was like an unspoken restraining order; neither one nor the other would think that "hanging out" was acceptable, let alone sleeping in the same bed for hours on end-

That was it! It was the bloody git's fault that they'd ended up like that. Harry was asleep, how could he have known that he was going to be bed-jacked and accosted in the middle of the night? He _knew_ there was something bad about being in the same room with Malfoy!

As to why the ex-Slytherin had actually ended up sleeping next to him, he didn't really care. All Harry knew was that if they'd been discovered in that state by anyone, more importantly Blaise Zabini, horrible horrible things would happen. It was just enough to make you want to Avada Kedavra a bastard.

Pushed to a limit, Harry kicked his still-dirty trainers at the wall, and they collided with the chair rail so sharply that one of them left a mark. It was then that the voice of Draco Malfoy echoed in the back of his mind, bringing up something that he'd said only a day before: _"I'm glad I could get that much of a reaction out of you. Easy, are we Potter?" _

Easy? He'd show the little shit "easy". Like how "easy" it would be to _sectumsempra_ off his goddamn nards.

But try as he might, one factor was always constant. Whether Harry Potter liked it or not, he was always going to have a _reaction_. And he was doomed for many, many more.

* * *

"Harry, are you alright? You look rather upset," Hermione asked inbetween dueling her next partner. She sat primly, not fully noticing (or at least, not doing justice) the way her hair and clothes were entirely disheveled due to Ernie Macmillan's last stunning spell. It was comical, or would've been comical, if Harry hadn't still been stuck in his daily grudge.

"I'm fine," he asserted, his jaw tight in a falsified concentration of Neville and Ron's current dueling lesson. He didn't jump as obviously as Hermione did when one of Ron's spells rebounded and hit the decorative plate on the wall above them, sending it crashing down onto their seats.

"Sorry mate," Ron squeaked.

Hermione's face turned to a scowl. "Harry, did you even _duck_?" She brushed the ceramic dust off her shoulders, and resumed sitting. "I've known you long enough to see you've got one ridiculous thing on your mind or another," she commented, turning back to Ron and Neville. Harry assumed she was standing vigil for any more "accidents".

Harry watched the match intently. "I'm _fine_," he insisted again. "I just didn't have the great night of sleep I expected to," he finally admitted. Which wasn't entirely true. He'd had an _amazing_ night of sleep. It wasn't until the morning that it was ruined by the visage of Malfoy asleep on his shoulder. _Horrible,disgusting, annoying-ass berk wad._

But he couldn't stop relaying the image in his mind. One thing was for certain; he envied how absolutely calm and wonderful Malfoy had looked. Almost of cherubim sorts.

After a brief round of applause, the two boys stepped down from the improvised "stage" and rejoined Harry and Hermione. Apparently, Neville had won, and was looking quite proud of himself. "Oh shut it, it was by default," Ron joked. "If I hadn't tripped over the edge like that, I would've gotten you square in the chest."

Hermione didn't pay attention, as much as Harry hoped she'd be distracted by her boyfriend's complaint. "Bad night of sleep? What do you mean? Was it another issue with your Slytherin bias, because I don't want to hear abo-"

"_No_, Mione, no- it's not that. Just don't bother. It's not a big deal."

She sighed. "Of course it's a big deal. Everything that 'isn't a big deal' with you is, in fact, an uncommonly _huge_ deal. It's just a matter of when you'll want to talk about it, or rather, when we manage to force it out of you." She'd said it so matter-of-factly that it reminded Harry of her first-year know-it-all personality. He didn't care too much for that side of her, not when it was at his expense.

"What are we forcing out?" Ron interceded, only listening into the conversation as of late. "Harry? Bad insides, mate? Something stuck up in there?"

Neville must've felt the need to add in what he considered helpful advice. "My grandmum once had a nasty case of Grinnelwaite, you know how that goes. All the prunes in the world couldn't get it all out of her system-"

"I'm not backed up, if that's what you're getting at!" Harry exclaimed, a little louder than he'd have liked to. A few faces from across the room felt the need to snicker. "Look," he said, lowering his voice to a more inaudible level, "all I'm saying is I had a rough morning. End of story."

Before Hermione could come up with a considerably harsh retort aimed at getting to Harry's insides, the auror Savage (who was instructing today's lesson) called out the next pair of duelers to present their attendance in the middle of the classroom.

"Mr. Harry Potter and Mr. Draco Malfoy, if you will."

There was a resounding _oooooh_ from the rest of the eighth years, as Harry decided it was a very un-eighth-year-like thing to do. And then it occurred to him that this was exactly as it was in his second year. Unnecessary, unadulterated, and completely unwanted.

But, fortunately for him, _Mr. Draco Malfoy_ wasn't present. In fact, he hadn't seen him in class at all today. Where the hell had the bugger gone off to? He hadn't seen him since . . . well, since _that_ scene unfolded.

"Not here, eh? Well, that's one way to lessen your impression on the Ministry," Savage commented offhandedly, scratching a heavy mark into his clipboard. "Well, alright. Ms. Lovegood, if you will."

Luna stood up with gusto, smiling politely at Harry. "I don't suppose I'll go too hard on you, Harry. You _did_ teach me most of what I know, after all."

Harry tried not to blush as he sank down into his seat. This was not starting off well at all.

* * *

It was already late afternoon and Draco hadn't managed to get in contact with the American Minstry at all. He'd tried owling them already, and a week in advance, as to inquire about his newly suggested position with them. Sure, he was regarded as something of an intern, but he didn't want to mess it all up before it even began. Now, after numerable attempts at floo-communication and the idea of apparating down to the city to speak with them himself, he was left in a rut that left him with little options.

He was nervous, of course, but it had little to do with the Ministry. No, it was very obvious that Draco was attempting to be as distracted as possible.

After skipping out on Potter earlier that morning, he'd nearly felt the need to regurgitate from embarrassment. How the hell could he have made that big of a mistake? If he'd been tired, that night when he was helping Potter (that was a horrid thought, _helping Potter_), he should've just laid down on his bed. It was that simple. Pass out in the proper place. But no, for some godawful reason, he'd fallen asleep in _Potter's_ bed, next to _Potter_, and it was a disaster in the morning. His heart was racing as he merely thought about it. _It's from the mortification, Draco, nothing more, _he told himself. _From being in a foreign bed. Nothing to do with Potter. NOTHING._

He gave a shuddered breath, and allowed himself to sink his head into his palms. It had nothing to do with his roommate. It had nothing to do with his goddamn sexuality. Everything was right, and he shouldn't have had anything to worry about.

But no matter how much he repeated these mantras in his head, and no matter how much he attempted to rid his mind of the endless visual replay of waking up next to Harry, he couldn't get rid of the feeling that he needed to replicate it all again. To be as close and warm like that as possible. To feel at peace with the enemy.

_The enemy._

Was he still an enemy at all? He'd certainly lightened up a bit since they'd been paired together. He'd managed to back off from his endless moral mode of maintaining an attack-dog persona. He could even be _nice_, on occasion. But that didn't help at all. The _nicer_ Potter was, the more Draco felt the need to hex him mercilessly. Just out of spite. And for getting into Draco's goddamn mind so easily.

Maybe Pansy was right. As much as he hated to acknowledge it. Maybe, for once, she had a better sense about her and could see that Draco was going downright insane. If this was true, the apocalypse was scheduled to start soon. Pansy Parkinson was never right.

He'd had all of three hours to himself before the door to the bedroom clicked open. He looked up in the last-minute hope that it was Blaise, but the figure that entered was exactly the same old Potter he'd expected to see. "Come to do me in?" he muttered with a hint of malice, and bent down absentmindedly to tie his shoelace. That way Potter wouldn't be able to see just how red his face was.

Harry set his things down on his still-unmade bed and stared at Draco. "You weren't at Dueling today. I was wondering where you went."

Draco didn't look up. "I had business to tend to. You of all people should understand that." He spoke as he fiddled with the laces, his loafer ending up tighter than he would've normally preferred. "What, with all the press and media coverage you get, it must be a natural affair-" He glanced up, and noticed Potter was still staring at him intently. He kept down a hiccup. "What? Why the hell are you gaping at me like that?"

"I can't believe you're giving me this much attitude," Harry said flatly. "I left class early to look for you."

"Look for me?" Draco asked, his inflection suddenly rising higher than it should've. "What gave you that ridiculous idea?" He suddenly felt a little insecure, but he couldn't place his finger on the exact reason.

"Excuse me for being worried. I hadn't seen you since- erhm, since this morning. You know." Harry sunk down on his bed. His nonchalance was really starting to get on Draco's nerves. "I tend to jump to conclusions when people don't show up."

"I wasn't aware I was included on your Potter-watch. I thought that was _reserved_ for your gang of worshippers and extended ginger family."

"No, sorry. You're stuck with that privilege too."

Draco, feeling on edge, stretched out on his bed and faced the ceiling. Why he'd ended up with the middle mattress, he'd never understand. "You know, Potter. You've been getting awfully chummy recently, and I'd like to point out the fact that we're still not friends."

"Not in the least bit, eh Malfoy?"

Draco huffed. "Do you enjoy mocking me?"

When he looked over, Harry smiled. It wasn't a large smile by any means, but it was sort of cocky and heartwarming all at once. "Always and forever."

It was less than three seconds later that a heavy pillow collided with the side of Harry's face. "Sod off," Draco spat, and turned on his side to face the opposite direction.

* * *

Harry rushed to find an appropriate means of opening the letter without destroying it. It was damaged badly enough, as the owl that sent it had to deliver it over more than three thousand oceanic miles, and was ripped in more than enough places. But the word it contained was worth the wait, as he hadn't heard from Ginny since he'd left.

He finally managed to slip his wand into the edge of the envelope and ripped it open by the seam. Unfolding the heavily creased parchment, he read her handwriting with a feeling of warmth. She was as close as he'd ever gotten to intimacy, so hearing from her made him feel as though he wasn't entirely alone. Ever since Ron and Hermione had gotten together, he'd felt as though he was always something of a third wheel (even though they always insisted it was the same as old times), and he wasn't that close to anyone else here. He had Lupin and Tonks, he supposed. They were alright. And there was always Malfoy. _Like he counts toward anything_, he thought sharply. Sure, things were getting more cordial between the two of them, but he was still ridiculously impolite and tended to nag. He didn't even appreciate the fact that Harry had worried about him yesterday.

Harry had _worried_ about him.

When was the last time he gave a shit about Malfoy's whereabouts? Other than during his sixth year, in which he positively stalked the blonde, he never had any intentions on keeping tabs for legitimate reasons.

He shrugged the thought out of his mind for the time being. He had all the time in the world to think about Malfoy after he was finished with Ginny's letter (and again, he mentally kicked himself for wording it that way).

_Harry,_

_Hope everything's going great overseas! We certainly miss you and the usual lot over here at Hogwarts. Nothing too eventful has happened, and it's a great bore. Sure, I suppose we need to recuperate since last year, but not to this extreme. Oh, and apparently they made me Head Girl. Mum's very excited about this, you see-_ Harry imagined the scene perfectly. The letter arriving, Molly Weasely's overjoyed expression, and a tad too overwhelming of a hug- _since she hasn't had someone to fuss about since Percy. _

_Ron wrote me earlier; I received his letter last weekend. I'm very sorry to hear about your rooming arrangements. Hopefully you two can keep to yourselves and will not give into any desires to murder one another. I expect to have you back completely intact with _all_ of your limbs-_ Harry winced at what he knew to be an innuendo- _by the winter holiday. We're thinking of taking a trip to Norway, and of course you're invited. Let me know what you think! _

_Personally, I'd love to make this a longer message as we don't get to correspond as much as we used to. Unfortunately, they've got me on duty for a load of unnecessary things, and I haven't the time to continue with this. I'll send another one as soon as I can, I promise!_

_Really missing you. Just to let you know._

_Ginny_

He was a little disappointed with the length, but was very happy to hear from her nonetheless. If it weren't for the fact that she made it sound very similar to a business letter, he would've been elated. But for some reason, he couldn't read her voice when he overlooked the script. Maybe it was her writing style, but he had the horrible thought that he wasn't as in tune with her as he used to be. _It's just the distance, mate_, he told himself. If anything, he'd see her soon.

"What'd it say?"

Harry turned to look over his shoulder. Of all places, he'd run into Malfoy at the owlery. "That's not much of your business, don't you think?"

Draco walked forward and leaned against the decking next to Harry. "No, I suppose it isn't. Then again, never stopped you from getting into mine."

Harry gave a small glare as his face contorted into disgust. "Get off it. I didn't come up here to hear you complain." He pushed himself back from the decking so that he was no longer leaning.

"Complaining, is it? I'm complaining when I talk about my father stuffed up in Azkaban? Or maybe it's just me, thinking that my problems are actually _relevant_ to my life." Draco squinted. "You've got an awful lot of nerve, Potter. Pushing your problems onto your friends but never giving anyone a chance to push back."

"You're not a friend of mine, so how would you know?"

"One can imagine."

There was an elongated silence between the two of them as they stared out at the red and orange hills in the distance. Harry could see his breath this morning.

"What'd the letter say, Potter? It's from the Weaselyette, right?"

Harry sighed. "I thought we just went over this."

"Refresh my memory."

"I told you it was none of your business."

Draco turned to his left, so that he was facing Harry full-front. "Yesterday, you were upset at the fact that I didn't give a shit about your concern. You realize, Potter, that if you want my respect, and you want me to respond in the appropriate manner, you've got to be willing to work with me."

Harry looked at Draco with contempt, but Draco merely smirked. "I'm touchy, Potter."

After a moment's hesitation, Harry returned to leaning on the deck. He sighed before he began. "She's been made Head Girl."

"Go on."

Harry was uncertain as to why Malfoy wanted to know the details, but he figured he was just doing it to get on his nerves again. Still, he didn't want to start any sort of confrontation. Not this early in the morning, at least.

"Not much else. She only wrote a bit."

"So the Weaselyette is running out of time for the Golden Boy? Shame, that is."

Harry made a quick motion that suggested he was ready to pummel Malfoy, but stopped himself. "I don't know. She can do what she wants, I'm not going to hold her up for a dumb letter."

Again, there was a pause in their conversation as the blood between them settled to a mere simmer. "You love her Potter?"

It was an odd question for Malfoy to be asking. Then again, any question that he asked that was not in direct correlation to Harry's embarrassment was odd.

"Yeah, sure. I mean, as much as I can right now at this point."

"You're not doing much to convince a fellow."

Harry glared out of the corner of his eyes. "You know what Malfoy? I don't even know why I'm putting up with you right now. Why are you even up here?"

Draco pulled a thick envelope out of his coat pocket. "To send a letter, what else? God, you're paranoid. First you think I'm out to murder you, now you think I'm following you. You're too much, Potter."

Harry didn't say anything at first. He couldn't tell if Malfoy was mocking him or not. But for good measure . . .

"Look. I'm sorry about the start of the semester. We just came out of a war, you know. I . . . I can't exactly trust everyone."

"What says you can't trust me?"

"Oh, I don't know. Just the fact that you nearly managed to get us all killed last year. Once a Death Eater, after all."

Draco snorted. "Once a Death Eater?' For your information, Potter, I didn't exactly join up out of free will."

"Yeah. I know."

"You're the one who hinted at being _friends_. So what's stopping you? I know I'm not the kindest guy on the face of the earth, Potter, but I'd at least like to know I have someone on my side."

Harry studied Draco after he'd said that. He looked as if he'd said something he was relatively uncomfortable with admitting.

". . . Please."

It was easily one of the strangest moments in Harry's life. Draco's face was sincere. Absolutely sincere. Was this something worth investing in? A friendship with Draco Malfoy? He was panicking, yes, but for some reason, he was kind of okay with the idea.

" . . . Fine, Malfoy. If you insist." He held out his hand, and Draco, not taking his eyes off of Harry, shook it respectively.

"Then so be it."

And from that point forward, Harry Potter never suspected that Draco Malfoy would ever become anything more than a term-based friend. He simply didn't realize how binding their contract would be.

* * *

A/N: Tried to pump this out rather quickly, so forgive me if it seemed short. I was going to combine it into something of a double-chapter, but in the end it was better to leave as is. I'm in my apartment now! Woooo. Review if you feel the need, I certainly enjoy getting them.


	10. Leave of Absence and Absynthe

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

"And _that,_ my friends, is how you make a pie," Tonks commented, looking rather proud of herself. She set down the piping hot finished product, making sure to carefully avoid Ron's already drooling mouth, and backed away. "Tuck in, then."

The air outside was hardly warm enough for travel, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione had made the trek over to Lupin's place regardless. In fact, they were already due for their first snowfall soon, and it wasn't even the second week of November yet. This winter was going to be colder than the last, apparently. It was almost enough to make Harry wish he had Ginny nearby to exchange body heat with. Or at least a thicker parka.

"How's the work for the ministry coming along since you took leave?" Hermione asked Tonks offhandedly as she sliced a cut of boysenberry pie. "Hear of any trouble, at least?"

Tonks pulled out a chair for herself and spun it around backwards before taking a seat. "Well," she started, eyeing the way Ron had nearly made a mess of his slice in pulling it out of the pan, "Let's just say that they're not exactly organized, the ministry. Right lot o' duffers, if you ask me, which is why I'm on leave in the first place. It shouldn't have taken them this long to get their business together, no matter how big of a dark lord was blown up by Harry here."

Harry held back the usual reddening of the face and concentrated on savoring a particularly big chunk on his fork.

"Well, I suppose there's different allocations for everything," Hermione commented. "What I don't understand is why they didn't hold some sort of delagatory conference between international wizarding communities already. I though that was one of their goals."

"That's because, for the most part, they're busy with reputation reparation. Say that three times fast," she winked. "Not to mention they've got some of the best out here working with you lot."

"The best meaning you, I'm guessing?" Ron joked, setting his fork down in record timing. He'd already finished his plate.

"The best meaning me, yes. And the others." She dug into her own slice and raised an eyebrow. "But mostly me."

They shared a good laugh, and continued with the same old light conversation they'd indulged in before the war. It was horrible to think about what might've happened if Lupin and Tonks hadn't have made it through, like so many of the others. If Harry would've had to see them in the Great Hall with the rest of those who'd passed in the battle, he might not have had the courage to continue forward. No, he couldn't bear to think about losing the last remainder of his dad's legacy, nor the role model he'd always looked up to when it came to his dream of becoming an auror. Lupin and Tonks were part of his family. It was a strange family, he and his friends, but it was a bond stronger than any blood relation he'd ever shared.

The rest of the night was slated to accommodate casual relaxation by the cottage fireplace, sampling Tonks' experimental yet oddly delicious cooking (Harry was sure that she was using magic to fix anything that didn't come out right), and drinking a bit too much firewhiskey for their own good, courtesy of Lupin. Hermione was the only one who didn't accept it, and was perfectly alright in sticking to a light brandy instead, but Ron and Harry had begun to get more ridiculous than they usually were, which proved all too amusing to Lupin. Harry knew better, that Lupin was channeling Sirius' mischievous side, but didn't dare call him on it. It looked as though it'd been a while since the man had had a bit of fun.

"Are you _sure_ you boys don't want to stay over for the night?" Tonks insisted, once she noticed that the parlor was getting louder by the minute. "Hermione too, of course, but you're the ones I'm getting worried about."

Harry shook his steadily heated head. "No, and thanks. We'll be fine, it's just a matter of walking back," he eventually got out of his mouth. Though he wasn't used to drinking, he could be perfectly cohesive if he needed to. Yep, one-hundred percent c-o-h-e-s-i-v-e. He even spelled it out in his mind. If that wasn't concentration, he didn't know what was.

Ron hiccuped from across the room. He was currently seated in a very large armchair, which made him look utterly ridiculous when paired with the elated look on his face. "C'mon, Harry, we can stay. We don't have _-hic_- lessons tomorrow, right?"

"No, but _some_ of us would like to finish our papers," Hermione said before Harry could answer. And even in his dizzy state, he could agree with her. "Yeah, Ron, we gotta get stuff done."

He attempted to stand up and nearly tripped on a stray shoe (presumably Ron's). Or maybe he was just off-balance. Either way, he needed to get up and move. He'd been sedentary for the majority of the night and actually fancied the idea of walking back. Unfortunately for him, he probably looked rather tipsy, and Hermione made a motion to help him up in case he teetered again.

"I'm fine, Mione, I swear," he insisted grumpily. He hastened to the door after the two of them had managed to collect Ron up from the armchair, and gave a reassured goodnight to both Lupin and Tonks.

The air outside was cold, he knew, but he didn't feel it much. Ron seemed intent on cuddling up next to Hermione, who tried to keep up a quick pace, but ultimately fell back into step with the redhead. He felt his blood dehydrating with every step, but this was the most relaxed he'd been in a while. He always enjoyed going over to Lupin and Tonks' place for a reason, and the underage drinking was only a small factor in its appeal. No, for the most part, it felt like a home away from home. It certainly had all the right people.

They'd arrived back at the school rather quickly (or maybe it took them a while, and Harry simply didn't notice). He said his goodnights respectively, and gave one last rueful wish that he could be following Ron back to his room, before heading back up to his dormitory. He opened the door with ease (as it no longer felt the need to give every new member of the room a violent shock) and plopped face-first down onto his down comforter. His head was reeling, but he was in a great mood. Well, a lessened great mood, now that he had to be back in this goddamn room, but still, a heightened sense of happiness.

He heard the shower going in the bathroom, and rolled over to face the ceiling. Had he been paired with better roommates, he might've appreciated the grandeur of the decorations a bit more. He stared at the ceiling tiles, handcarved wood now, for a good ten minutes, before wishing he had legitimate work to do. In all honesty, Hermione's complaint about having to finish a paper was just an excuse for him to get back and get to sleep. He wasn't even sure which paper she'd been talking about. _Probably one that's not due for a month and a half_, he smiled to himself.

The shower shut off, and another ten minutes passed before Draco Malfoy emerged in nightclothes, his hair still damp and uneven. "And what, pray tell, are you laughing about, Potter?"

Harry hadn't realized he'd been smirking at all until Draco had pointed it out. He raised an eyebrow at Draco, who seemed taken aback by the action. "Just got back from Lupin and Tonks' place," he said, not really providing an appropriate answer, but he didn't know what he'd been smiling about at all anyway. Did he need a reason nowadays?

"I can tell. You smell like Pansy on a Thursday night. Had a few Potter?"

Harry's alcohol-influenced brain decided it didn't like the way Malfoy had phrased that. "I might have, what's the big deal? You go out an awful lot, and I know you've probably done a lot more than drinking alone."

Draco's eyes reduced themselves to slits. "You think I'm all thorns and barbed wire. Personally, Potter, I'm flattered you have that much of a negative impression of me, but I regret to inform you I don't abuse my body for kicks." He took a comb to his hair, which was darker when wet, and proceeded to fashion it back into an acceptable style. "There are a lot of things I've never done."

"Name one."

Draco sighed, and focused on his own reflection in the mirror nearest his armoir as he continued to fix his bangs. "Well, anything beyond drinking, for one. I don't fancy the idea of getting smashed, especially not in front of others." He set down his comb, and leaned in to check his teeth. God, if Draco wasn't the most beauty-conscious bloke in the world, Harry didn't know who was. "I've also never been out of the country before."

"Now I know you're a lying git."

"A git, to you, maybe, but I'm not a liar. I just always stayed behind when my parents went out of England, and all of our vacations were local anyway. Mum figured it was easier to keep track of her social life that way," he said, returning to an upright position. "Frankly, I'm tired of having to keep track of the whole idea of a "social life". Not with Parkinson in it, at least," he scoffed jokingly, the smile fading quickly.

Harry mused on Draco's comment for a while, and in his slightly inebriated state of Gryffindor bravado, he didn't really care what he could possibly say to piss Malfoy off. "I thought you liked her. Or you two had a thing. Or something."

Draco moved to his bed and began to fold his clothes from earlier. "Parkinson? For Merlin's sake, Potter, she's nearly worse than you. I could barely stand her enough in school all those years," he said with a twinge of annoyance.

"But you dated her."

"Is that what you called it? We were just close. Or as close as our parents forced us to be, at the very least." He paused, holding a folder jumper and pair of slacks on his lap, and almost appeared to be pensive for a moment before proceeding with the usual nonchalance. "I've never been on a date."

Harry screwed up his face in confusion. "Malfoy, you're eighteen. You've had Pansy's head buried in your nards for the past six years. How the bloody hell are you telling me you've never been on a date?"

"I just haven't, Potter. Drop it. It isn't a particularly big deal anyway."

Harry's confusion turned into hilarity, and he sat up on the edge of his bed. "Well damn, Malfoy. You're kidding me. Really? That's hard to believe." His mind was currently having a laughing fit, though he tried not to show it.

Draco whipped around to face Harry. "And _why_ exactly is it so 'hard to believe'?" he asked, quoting Harry in a mocking voice.

"Well, for starters, you've always seemed pretty popular amongst your housemates," Harry recanted, avoiding the term "friends" due to the fact that he doubted Malfoy ever had any. "And you're not too bad looking of a guy." Which was awkward to say, but it was the truth, and hey, Harry was over the moon right now anyway.

"Thanks, Potter, that's exactly the kind of compliment I'm looking for from the likes of you," Draco spat, having to calm down his insides at the latter half of what Harry had said. "If you're so interested in my private affairs, why don't do you something about it to better suit your needs?"

"Maybe I will."

"Fine."

"Fine." And with that, Harry leaned over from his bed and smacked a good one right at Draco's backside.

Draco stood wide-eyed in astonishment as he took in what had just happened. "You . . . " he mumbled as Harry broke out into a fit of highly amused laughter. "You bloody wanker! I'll fucking murder you!"

Harry was nearly running out of breath. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! That was for being so intrusive the other day, you know, with Ginny's letter," he managed to get out before wiping the oncoming tears out of his eyes. "Damn, Malfoy, you're an easy target!"

"Shut the hell up Potter! You're drunk off your arse!" Draco combated.

"Can't help it."

Draco looked positively murderous. "Get out of here! Go to Weasely's room or something! I've got too much work to get done tonight, and you're being downright archaic!" He motioned for the door, and when Harry didn't show any signs of getting up, Draco reached for his wand. "You've got five seconds Potter, and then, I'll hex you until you bleed out of your rear."

"C'mon Draco, relax," Harry smiled.

"Five."

Harry sighed. Maybe a night in Ron's room would do him some good. No, scratch that, a _lot_ of good.

"Four."

Wait, why the hell was he protesting this? He'd take Ron's room over Draco's anyday.

"Three. Come on, Potter."

"Yeah yeah, I got you. Lemme grab some clothes."

"Nope. Two."

Harry, realizing that Draco was about to seriously do some damage, happily and drunkenly took the opportunity to sprint to the door. He'd made it halfway out before Draco counted down to "one," and Harry had managed to slam the door before anything happened. As he walked away from it, a loud explosion came from the other side of the heavy oak, and burn marks had immediately cropped up around the edges. Huh, so Malfoy had meant it. Good for him.

Even when inebriated, Harry loved to set Draco off just right.

Draco. Draco? No, Malfoy. Small mistake.

* * *

Ron was already asleep by the time Harry had arrived, and so he was forced to knock on the door until someone answered. He'd passed out on the bed next to the redhead once he was let inside by Seamus, and comfortably slept for the remainder of the night, with the exception of having to fight for the covers. He'd had a very long dream sequence in the meantime, involving being offered a spot on the national quidditch team, before his night of sleep was cut all too short by the morning sun and Ron's incredibly red hair.

"Holy shit, Harry, you scared me! Why are you here?" Ron asked groggily, wiping the crust out of his eyes.

Harry didn't want to answer, because he was still half asleep, and talking would certainly jar him out of that state of consciousness. Instead, he mustered a mumble that was hardly worthy of the English language. "Nnnnnnnnnnnngh . . ."

"Oy, mate, you're in my bed," Ron continued.

"I know," Harry finally answered, his the side of his face pressed to the pillow. "I'm not moving again."

"Well, why are you here in the first place? Malfoy get to you or something?"

Harry decided that by now, Ron was very awake, and was not going to let him continue to relax. He rolled over and faced the ceiling, his glasses falling off the side of the mattress because of it. "I don't know, probably. I'm tired, you want me to think back a whole eight hours?" Though he did not drink enough the night before to enjoy the full effects of a hangover, he was still ridiculously out of it.

"Twelve, actually. It's one o'clock in the afternoon," Ron commented.

"Oh. Didn't feel that long." It was a Saturday, after all, so Harry was not feeling the need to stress out about missing three lessons.

"Well, while you're here, want to help me pack?"

Ron shoved the covers off (as he'd ended up with most of them) and got out of bed. After a few minutes of struggling underneath the bed to look for Merlin knew what, he resurfaced with a large suitcase.

"What are you doing with _that_?" Harry asked as Ron unclipped the locks.

"Well," Ron started, as he opened the case, "I held off on telling you at first. Word would get around to Mione, and you know how much she freaks out." He grabbed for a wad of socks and stuffed them inside. "Dad wrote me the other day. You know how the ministry is still trying to cover up for last year? They promoted my dad's entire department and they're recruiting for new positions," he said.

Harry was starting to feel suspiciously sick to his stomach, and not from last night's debauchery. "Which means . . ."

"Which means, he wants me to come work with him over there. Just for a couple of months, see how I do. I mean, we're only here to get jobs in the ministry _anyway_, so I figured why not go ahead and skip the first step while I can?"

Harry didn't like how this was going. Not right after he woke up. "So you're telling me you avoided telling us because you didn't want Hermione making a scene?"

"Well, yeah, mate, you know how she gets. She'd rather me be here finishing this stupid eighth year instead of actually getting ahead in my career, probably."

Harry rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, Ron, but this isn't for entry level stuff. I mean, most of us are going out for Auror positions, not desk work-"

"Either way, an in's an in."

Harry was not feeling well at all. "Okay, so you'd rather be doing what your dad's been doing, no matter how little the Ministry's going to pay you at a time like this-"

"-Excuse me? You don't have any idea how much my dad got paid."

"No offense, Ron, but not much for the amount of work he was doing. Let alone having to support a family later in life."

Ron looked betrayed. "So you're saying I'm not going to be successful if I accept an average career? We can't all be saviors of the world, Harry! I might not even _take _the damn position, its all on whether it's worth it or not-"

"It's _worth_ it to stay here with the rest of us! Look, why didn't you tell me earlier? What's the big deal with Hermione anyway? I thought you loved her, at the very least like a best friend!"

"I _do_, Harry, I do, I'm just sick and tired of all the shit she's been giving me ever since the war ended! It's like she's been hyper-Granger ever since our seventh year, and for some reason I'm not seeing much other than her usual first year nagging anymore!"

Harry was now sitting attentively. "It's called _stress_, Ron, you should try it out sometime, when you're not busy doing absolutely nothing at all."

"Harry, in all due respect mate, go fuck yourself."

"Fine. I get it. Just up and leave us here." Harry stood, and violently grabbed his glasses off the carpet where they'd fallen. "Good luck with your job. We'll see you there soon enough."

"I'm sure you will."

Harry shut the door with a loud thud, and was prepared to go without Ron Weasely for a few months as promised.

* * *

Draco was currently glancing over a few of his business letters before Blaise picked up his things and headed for the door. Unfortunately enough for everyone in the room, the door opened before Blaise had gotten to it, and Harry had shoved him aside in a very accentuated entrance.

"What the hell? Excuse _you_," Blaise remarked, still shoved against the door.

Harry didn't answer, leaving Blaise to make a very threatening gesture towards him before taking his leave. "I'll catch you later, Draco. Do me a favor and kill this kid, will you?" If it weren't for the fact that Blaise didn't see Potter as an equal fit to fight, the Boy Who Lived would've had a lot more problems than the one he'd apparently walked in with.

"Dear god, Potter, what the hell is your problem?" Draco asked, eyeing him out of the corner of his vision.

"Sod off, Malfoy."

Draco moved from his desk with grace. "Uh-uh, Potty, we're 'friends' now, remember? You owe me an apology for that one."

"I said shut _up._" Harry kicked his shoes off in a large single motion.

"No, I don't think I will. You know what happens when you piss me off," Draco said, motioning casually to the back side of the door, which was badly scalded and had chipped in quite a few places.

Harry made some sort of snorting noise from his side of the room, and Draco took it as a sign of disgust. Or amusement. Perhaps a little of both. Regardless, he didn't say anything right away, but didn't make a snide comment in return, either.

" . . . Ron's going back."

Draco was almost taken aback when Harry had finally spoken, but was expecting an answer nonetheless. "Back where? His dump of a home?"

"No," Harry answered through his teeth. "Well, yeah, I guess. To the Ministry. He's dropping whatever this all is in order to pick up a blue-collar position."

"Well, I don't see any problem with that. He's a blue-collar type of guy."

Harry glared for a second, but it disappated as he drifted into what Draco assumed was _thought_. If Potter was at all capable of that. "Yeah, but . . . " he said, more quietly. "He wasn't going to tell us."

Draco sunk backwards into his desk chair. "Boo hoo. So what? That's his decision, not yours."

"No, he should've _told _us. That's what friends _do_."

"I wouldn't know." Draco said it as a joke, though a part of him was regretting that he'd voiced it. It was partially true, after all. He switched gears to get off that mindset. It was as though Harry had walked in and brought all of the world's problems in with him, and it was seriously taking a toll on Draco's overall mood. "God, what happened to the obnoxious drunk I had in here last night? I think I almost prefer it over how you're acting right now."

"You and me both, Malfoy." He leaned backwards onto his bed. "If there was one thing I could use right now, it'd be one hell of a drink."

Draco nearly rolled his eyes as he turned back to his business letters. If he had to allow Harry to brood, he'd do it. Anything to make the git shut up. For all Draco cared, the Weasle could go back to the UK and die.

"Now that you mention it," Harry started again, causing Draco to reel around again in his chair. Harry got up immediately and started towards Draco.

"What? What the hell do you want?" Draco said, protesting as Harry grabbed hold of his wrist and began to drag him toward the door. "Potter! What the fuck? I'm busy, I can't take care of your stupid preschool problems!"

"Shut up, we're going out."

Draco raised an eyebrow. Going out? Going out _where?_ "What on _earth_ are you going on about?"

Harry didn't look back, but merely shoved Draco in the direction of the hallway. "I need a distraction, and I'm sure as hell not sticking around here to find it," he said assertively.

"What says I have to go with you? For god's sake, Potter, let _go_-"

"Consider it an outing. Hell, consider it a date if you want. Since you've never been and all that."

Draco felt his skin grow warm. A _what?_ Had Potter gone absolutely insane? Between this and last night's "punishment", he was ready to die of embarrassment and anticipation all at once.

"F-fine- I mean- just where the hell are we going? Do you even know?" He had to catch his breath as he trot alongside Harry, who was keeping up an incredibly fast pace for a walk.

Harry looked over his shoulder at Draco, and luckily enough for the both of them he'd seemed to have lost his edge. For now. "To the city, I guess."

"What? All the way out there? Why?"

Harry grinned in a way that looked both very strange when paired with his current state of anger and very darkly charming when paired with his ideas. "Why not?"

* * *

A/N: Again, feels short to me because I originally intended to have Chapters 9 and 10 combined somehow. Eh, too late lol. On to fun times soon. Including one very very long chapter I've got fleshed out. Yerp. Review, as always, and thanks to those who have. Bring on the weekend =D


	11. Mistakes

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

Draco was too currently occupied with the manner of Potter's grip to keep a focus on where they were going. They'd already been frisked away to the town nearest school, side-alonged in an apparation Draco was certain he'd never want to experience again (hopefully, Potter's more focused and benign feelings made for better transportation; when he was upset he'd nearly managed to splinch the both of them), and paraded through the busy afternoon intersections near Chinatown. But other than that, he had no clue where they were, and no clue where they were headed. Potter's indignant leash of the occasional tug at Malfoy's shirt or pull at the elbow was all he had to go by, and it was really starting to get annoyingly ridiculous. He wasn't a dog, nor was he a child. No, he was much better than the way he was treated, and whether Potter realized it or not, he was a _Malfoy_, and didn't enjoy the effects of being ushered via grunting git.

They were currently stationed at a crosswalk, waiting for the opposing light to turn red so they could make the diagonal trek across to the other block. After a moment's wait (well, many, many moments), the muggle electronic device signaled a WALK and the horde of pedestrians began to make their way into the street. Harry made a motion to grab Draco's wrist, but the blonde curtly pulled back.

"Will you _please_ stop grabbing me? I'm already compliant to the fact that I am utterly lost. I'm not going to up and run on you!" he shouted, a little louder than he would've liked. A few of the passing tourists gave them strange looks of disapproval, as if they were in the middle of some sort of relationship driven by sadism. Or a kidnapping. Potter was just maniacal enough at this point to be convincing at that role.

Harry glared for a second at Draco, and then let his arms fall to his side as they stepped off of the curb. "Fine. Whatever you want," he said flatly, though the words still caused Draco to give a slight double-take. "All I want is to grab something to eat."

Draco nearly scowled. "I thought you were after a drink. At least that's what you said a few minutes ago."

"Yes, I did. And now I've changed my mind. How hard is that for you to understand?"

"I'm just trying to keep up with you Potter! Excuse me for looking out for your earlier interests," Draco said, staring in the other direction at oncoming traffic.

When he didn't hear a response, he turned to look at Harry, who had an odd expression on his face. To Draco, it looked like he was mocking him. "I appreciate that. You're starting to become more tameable," Harry said, reaching out and ruffling through Draco's hair jokingly.

"Fuck off, Potter! I told you to stop touching me!"

Harry laughed. "I knew this would be a good idea."

The light conversation (as that was what this was now, since both of them had accepted the fact that this was simply how they talked to each other) continued until they reached the end of the block, and Harry appeared as though he too had no clue where they were headed. "I s'pose we could always just grab some fast food or something," he said, looking in both directions for any sort of familiar neon sign.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "Fast food? You expect me to stomach that filth?"

"I'm surprised you even know what fast food is, Malfoy. A little more muggle-friendly than I expected?"

"_No,_" Draco retorted immediately, more to the fact that Harry was making fun of him than the sentence he'd just accidentally negated. He was trying to look the part of a functioning member of society here, and he'd just given an answer his father would've given. Damn it.

"No, I mean-" Draco restarted, "You have to realize I have Parkinson around at all free hours. She eats disgusting amounts of rubbage no matter where it comes from."

"So you _have_ had fast food," Harry smiled.

"Unfortunately, yes, I have, and I don't plan on having any more. So if you'll please get that rotter out of your head, I'll hail a taxi and find us a _real_ restaurant."

Apparently, this baffled Harry as well. It wasn't as though Draco knew these things inherently, of course. Not with the family he'd grown up in. But how hard could it possibly be to flag down an automobile? He stepped out toward the curb and began to wait, though all of the taxi cabs merely sped past. Okay, so he apparently had to do something to get their attention. He put up his right hand in a signal, and stepped further out onto the edge of the curb. Again, nothing happened, and looking over his shoulder, he noticed Harry's mixed look of concern and entertainment.

"What, Potter? Have a better method? If these drivers weren't such bloody sons of bitches I'd have already gotten us a ride!"

Harry stepped toward Draco. "No, you've got to-"

A loud car horn blared. "- FUCK YOU TOO, YOU RIGHT PIECE OF SHI-"

"Oy, Draco, no-"

Draco had already mechanically reached for his wand in the pocket of his coat and was ready to throw a hex at the next taxi that passed, but Harry reached out and shoved his arm back down. "God, Malfoy, will you let me do it?"

Draco finished glaring at the cab that had intentionally passed them up, and turned to get a look at Harry.

"Damn, Malfoy, I wasn't aware you had such a colorful vocabulary," Harry commented, now looking up the street.

Draco continued to watch. "You called me Draco."

Harry waved down the next cab with ease, and it was already pulling up to the curb where they stood. He glanced at Draco, who didn't look amused. "What? No I didn't."

"Yes you did, you lying bastard," he answered in a swinging intonation. "For your information," he started, sliding into the back seat as Harry scooted down, "I don't fancy how lightly you're taking my complaints."

"Okay, sure, but tell the man where we're going. Since this was your idea, after all." Draco's eyes narrowed before he turned to the driver and obliged him with an address.

Draco felt the need to continue before Potter could change the subject. "First, you drag me out of my work to take me to this wreck of a city, and then you shove me along and treat me like I'm your pretty little house elf just to satiate whatever whim you may currently have."

"Pretty much, yeah." Harry showed little interest in the topic. He'd even had the bollocks to yawn in front of Draco before he was finished. "So, Malfoy, where are we going? I thought you didn't know your way around."

"Sod off, Potter. I wasn't done."

Harry exhaled long and deep before rubbing his eyes. "Look, Malfoy. I was upset, and I do things when I'm upset. You just happened to be the thing I grabbed first without thinking about it, and this just happened to be the place I wanted to come to." The cab driver visibly raised an eyebrow in the rear-view mirror, but quickly averted his sight when Draco glared back.

"Well, I don't exactly want to be a part of your temper tantrum, Potter."

"Too late for that. And maybe I wanted you here. Ever think about that?" Harry asked.

Draco began to say something, but lost track of his thoughts as soon as Harry finished. He stared, halfway defeated in conversation, halfway shocked at what Harry had just said, before he'd managed to get anything out. "No. No I didn't."

There was an awkward silence that fell in suit. Draco stared out his window, but felt the need to keep stealing glances at Potter. What was his damage? Between what he'd just said, and all the personal contact earlier, Draco would've wagered that he was out to drive him bloody insane. He couldn't keep up with every last Potter-ism that kept popping up, and with the constant fickle manners and lasseiz-faire decisions, he was sure he was going to break Potter in half the next chance he got. But still, somehow, the Gryffindor managed to get the upper hand in every damn situation they'd been through today. Or maybe, just maybe, Draco was getting soft. _No way._

"So, I'll ask again," Harry said, finally breaking the dead air. "Where are we going?"

Draco leaned back in his seat. "To a restaurant."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, I already know that, you git. _Where_ are we going?"

"My father's usual."

Again, Harry didn't seem too convinced. "I thought you've never been out of the UK."

"I haven't. My father has. Easy, isn't it, when you use your brain?"

"Yes, but you knew the address by heart."

Draco sighed. "When you're as organized as the rest of the world, you know all your important contacts by heart."

"155 West 58th," the driver interrupted, suddenly and loudly, and with a thick accent. It seemed as though he was getting extremely tired of his passengers, and was thankful to have reached their destination. "Sixty-five eighty-eight, cash or card?"

Draco turned to Harry. "Well? You heard the man. Pay him."

"Me? You're the one who wanted to take a taxi!"

"Do I look like I carry muggle money? Come on, Potter."

Now visibly annoyed, Harry reached for his wallet and shoved out four twenty-dollar bills. "Keep the rest," he said quickly, slamming his door as he got out. "I don't suppose you'll have me pay for dinner too?" he asked Draco, his voice raised.

"No. I've got that covered."

"But you just said you didn't have any mugg-"

The taxi driver finished counting his money and got back into his seat. "You know," he shouted out the passenger window, "You'll enjoy your date a lot more if you stop arguing." And then a more quiet "God, homosexuals these days . . ."

And as the cab turned its wheels and re-entered traffic, Harry and Draco both stood identically aghast at what was just said. "_Homosexuals?_ Did . . . did you just hear-"

Harry nodded his head and spoke into Draco's sentence. "You know, he's right. We'll enjoy this date a _lot_ more if you quit being an arse."

Draco looked positively knocked off his grounding. "You're still going along with that ruddy joke?" Harry looked at him with a faint smile and waited for the insult to kick in. Sure enough- "Wait, _me_? _I'm_ an arse? You're one to talk!"

Harry turned to face Draco, closer than he'd expected. "So we're on the same terms then. Good." He began to walk inside the restaurant, which was wrapped in golds and silvers. "This _is_ a date, after all." And with that, he grabbed the large door handle and held it open for Draco.

The blonde hesitated, surveying Harry's actions and holding back his body's natural reaction to grow hot in the face. He did this for quite some time. And then, rolling his eyes, he held his breath and walked through the door. "You're going to be the death of me, Potter, I swear."

* * *

"Say it again."

"Mar-meet-un in cokilles saint jock."

"No, stop looking at the name and repeat what I say."

"Okay then, say it already."

"Marmiton en coquilles St. Jacques."

"Mah-meat-in-"

"Nope."

Draco lifted his glass for another taste as Harry attempted to work out the name of his entrée. They were seated in the back of the restaurant, in a private booth that was cut off from the rest of the customers in an effort to remain under the radar. An older yet regal looking witch in muggle corporate clothing from them eyed them occasionally, but made no comment about their recognition. Other than her, their seating was in a good enough location. After all, Harry had no idea this was going to be a restaurant that catered to muggles and wizarding folk alike. _"How else are they supposed to bring in as much revenue as they do?" _Draco had said in an obvious manner when they walked in. _"Do you seriously think their benefactors are all muggle?"_

So now, it wasn't as hard for Harry to picture Lucius Malfoy enjoying a lavish night out with the restaurant's manager (also a wizard) than he did when he thought the place was, well, as normal as could be. He vaguely wondered if one of the "benefactors" Malfoy was talking about was none other than his father. How else were they enjoying a courtesy meal?

Harry set down his fork in protest. He was getting full, and there was no way he was going to be able to finish the plate that Draco had ordered for him (as it was painfully obvious Harry couldn't speak a word of French- he was lucky enough he could pronounce Fleur's name on a daily basis). Though he hadn't seen much of the Malfoy grandeur since their trip began, he was certainly seeing it now. Draco looked perfectly at home, swirling a glass of wine absentmindedly and staring at Harry.

Staring at Harry?

"What?" Harry said in an I-Didn't-Do-It-And-You-Can't-Blame-Me-For-Anything kind of tone.

"You're not going to finish that?" Draco said, accusatorily.

Harry looked down at his plate with finality. "No, I'm definitely done."

"Oh." Draco had said it so passively that Harry didn't notice at first. He looked up and noticed that the blonde was taking another distracted sip of his Bordeaux.

"Erhm . . . should I take some of it back for later? Or?"

"Oh, no," Draco said immediately, setting the glass down. "I mean, if you don't like it, you don't have to force yourself to finish it. It's really no problem."

Harry almost picked up on the sense that Draco was disappointed. "What? No way, I loved it. I've never had anything like this before," Harry said. "I'm just full. Between hors d'oeuvres and this, I'm not sure I could stomach much else," he explained.

"Really?" It was almost immediately that Draco's demeanor snapped back into place. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. I mean, it's no surprise, I _do_ have amazing judgement when it comes to ordering."

"And not much else?" Harry laughed, picking up on the opportunity to expand upon his sentence. Draco merely shoved him sideways in acknowledgement.

"I advise you'd shut up. I've got dessert on the way, and I might think twice about sharing."

Harry thunked his head backwards against the booth in protest. "_More_ food, Malfoy? Don't you ever reach a limit?"

Draco smiled. "It's just the way I was raised. It's a three-course sort of lifestyle."

Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye. It was weird, having dinner outside of the context of the Great Hall in Hogwarts. There, everyone was an equal. Perhaps not socially, of course, but when it came down to the bare bones of it all, everyone was eating the same food at the same tables in the same uniforms. To imagine that Malfoy had grown up in an environment that was starkly different than his own made sense, but didn't quite register. It never really hit Harry that Draco was unbelievably coddled as a youth. Yes, it was evident in his attitude, but to imagine that the entire family (of three) had so much room in their living arrangements and so much food to enjoy merely for the lavishness of it all was a concept Harry had trouble grasping. Let alone having to dine with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy every day. That was an idea all on its own.

"Hey Malfoy."

Draco looked up after a moment's concentration on his fabric napkin. "Yes?"

"What was it like in your place? Growing up, I mean." Harry was unsure why he was bold enough to put the question out there, but there was little that _didn't_ piss Malfoy off nowadays, so he saw no risk.

Draco looked confused by the question. Or by the fact that Harry had posed it at all. Still, he surprisingly obliged. "Well," he decided, "I suppose it wasn't any different than the way you grew up. You learn the basics when you're young from a tutor and the rest is all breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

Harry had an ironic look on his face. "I went to a muggle elementary school, not a tutor. And then I was shoved in a cupboard for a while."

"Oh well, not too much difference there, I was always stuck up in my room for one reason or another-"

Harry tried not to smile out of spite. "No, I mean, literally. A cupboard."

Draco's placid expression turned into something of mockery, as if he thought Harry was pulling his leg, but then changed into disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me. You're Harry Potter. No one in their right mind would think of putting you in a cupboard."

"Yeah, well, try telling that to my uncle."

Draco nearly squinted. "And here I was under the impression that you slept on guilded sheets for the eleven years you spent prior to Hogwarts."

Harry chuckled. "No, that would be you."

Draco leaned back comfortably and swirled his glass again. Harry didn't know what the purpose of that was, but he'd sure seen a lot of people do it. It looked more like a nervous tic than anything else, but he doubted there was anything Malfoy had to be nervous about right now. Not surrounded by all this food.

"Yes, I suppose. Mother always did like to spoil me." Harry tried not to laugh at his inside comment of _I couldn't tell_. "What, Potter? Did I say something _amusing_?"

"No, no, I'm just being a git again. Go on."

Draco refilled his glass with the wine bottle on the table. "'Go on' what? I wasn't aware I had anything else to say about the matter."

"No, really," Harry said, now interested in getting Malfoy to talk. When did _that_ ever happen? "I want to know about you. Since we're not intent on killing one another, and you obviously wanted to be friends."

Draco's face turned a shade darker. Hopefully it would appear as though it was from the alcohol. "Well, I _guess_." He looked slightly uncomfortable. "What do you want to know about?"

Harry launched into a crossfire of shallow questions, all of which dealt with anything from being an only child (how great would it have been to have Dudley out of the picture?) to having pets to learning from a pureblood point of view. He didn't ask about the bias, of course, nor did he even dare venture into the rough stuff yet. In the meantime, the waiter had dropped off a very large crème brulee that Draco dug into with ease.

"So you really never had a birthday party?" Harry asked, watching Draco take another bite, and slip the spoon out of his mouth clean again.

"No, I didn't. Mmmn, but I got plenty of gifts, of course." Another bite, another slip of the spoon. "Potter, you really should have some of this. I had it made for us by the executive chef."

"No, trust me, I'm fine," Harry said, feeling slightly guilty for refusing. "I never had a birthday either. It never really mattered until Hogwarts. Even then, it's in the middle of summer, so I never had the chance to particularly celebrate it."

"God, as if I didn't hear enough about your birthday. _Seventh month_ this, _seventh month _that. That's all you ever heard around Death Ea-" he caught himself "- my house."

Harry felt as though Draco had just dug up a dark spot in the conversation. Still, his curiosity got the better of him. "You knew about the prophecy?"

"The what? Oh, I don't know what the bloody hell they were talking about. A prophecy sounds about right," he said, taking another bite. It was very clear to Harry that he was trying to keep the conversation as lighthearted as possible, because Draco's tone was becoming slightly more distant.

Harry had to think. Though he'd known Draco to be stuck in the middle of a very prominent ring of Death Eaters, he'd never really considered what it must've been like. At least now that he realized Draco wanted little to do with it all. How was it, to have killers walk in and have tea? How was it to share a parlor with Voldemort? To watch it all fail, and to watch your father be sent to prison?

" . . . Can I see it?" Harry asked plainly, because in all honesty, there was no other to go about asking.

Draco looked up from his dessert. "Excuse me?"

"Your arm."

A look of sheer horror flashed across Draco's face, but it quickly disappeared into a guarded sort of mistrust. "You don't need to see that, Potter."

Harry raised an eyebrow, and offered a small empathetic smile which faded after only a second. Instead, for whatever reason, and probably the same reason that guided him through his toughest times (and got him into them in the first place), he placed his hand around Draco's wrist and gently lifted it off the table. Surprisingly enough, there was no protest, but Draco looked like he was going through an excruciating amount of inner discomfort. Harry slowly pushed the sleeve of Draco's blazer up his forearm, taking his undershirt along with it, and rotated his now nearly-shaking limb around to face upward.

"There's nothing there, Draco."

The blonde offered a weak smile. "Got you all worked up for nothing, did I?" His humor quickly dissipated, however, as he became content with staring at his still-full wine. It was hard to hear, but Harry caught him saying it. " . . . Glamour charms really are quite useful . . . "

Harry studied Draco for a moment's time, and though he looked as though he was dreading what was about to happen next, he didn't pull away. What was it that kept his arm in Harry's grip?

But somehow, Harry felt as though he already knew the answer. Somehow, between the two of them right now, there was trust. Enough to keep Draco from receding back into his safety vault.

Making sure that there was no audience (the woman who'd been previously seated near them had already paid and left), Harry held his wand low, and softly murmured the counter charm. It happened at a near-lightning speed; the creamy color of Draco's natural skin began wiping away and disintegrating outwards around the Mark, revealing a black and gray darker than ink staining the entire length of his forearm. It was a perfect copy of the Dark Mark that Harry had seen at the World Cup during his fourth year, only instead of brilliantly displayed, or even faded like Igor Karkaroff's was during Voldemort's bodily hiatus, Draco's rendition was horribly smudged out as if it was covered in soot. _What the hell? _

" . . . It did that after you killed him," Draco explained quietly, looking incredibly ashamed as though there was anything he could do about it in the first place. "I think everyone's did."

"But it didn't go away?" Harry asked, still studying it up close. Here he was, peering into the symbol of the man that haunted him for seventeen years of his life. In the end, that's all he really was. Just a man.

"If it 'went away', do you think I'd have to cast a ruddy charm on it all the time?" Draco asked, a twinge of discontent with the question in his inflection.

"No, I s'pose not," Harry said, running the edge of his fingertip along what was left of the design. He looked up, and realized that this was still Draco's _arm_, not a canvas, and immediately stopped. "Sorry," he offered.

Draco stared at Harry in a calculating sort of way. "Looking at this now, you must think me stupid."

"What? No way. It's . . . fascinating, for lack of a better word."

"Fascinating, maybe, but incriminating, moreover. It's not as though _you've_ got a mark on you to remind you of _him_ for the rest of your life."

But it was then that Harry furrowed his eyebrows in a bit of an exasperated smile. It made Draco give a look of disgust, that Harry would be even _attempting_ to find humour in what he just said, but it was wiped off his face when Harry moved his disheveled fringe out of the way.

"No. I don't have anything like that, do I," Harry said, calmly displaying his forehead.

Both boys stared at each other before a mutual sort of grin spread out on their faces. It didn't match the mood at all. No, it _changed_ the mood.

And change was good.

* * *

It was late by the time they'd left the restaurant, and considering they'd both had their fair share of dinner (and everything else that went along with it), traveling back to the school didn't seem like a very grand idea. Instead, Harry's decisions and Draco's prowess for knowing _exactly_ the right people granted them both a night's suite at the Ritz-Carlton. It wasn't exactly the motel Harry had suggested, but it would work fine in the meantime.

"Hey look, Potter, _two_ beds. Can't find those in your discount lodging, can you," Draco scoffed, falling backwards onto the one closest to the veranda.

"Oy, Malfoy. _Two_ beds. Which means fall asleep on your _own_ this time, got it?"

Draco tried to happily shove the thought out of his mind, but the embarrassment that accompanied the memory was a little too much to keep from surfacing. "Yeah, I got it. You still owe me for that paper, by the way. What's that I hear you got on it? An O? As in, 'Oh Malfoy, I couldn't have done it without your superior wit and grace?'"

"An O, as in, _Oh Malfoy_, bugger off before I throw this pillow at your face." Harry looked as though he was quite enjoying himself. "'Superior wit and grace' my bleeding arse."

"You've got to hand it to me, Potter," Draco continued, dodging the pillow as it careened toward a lamp. That was one reason Harry was never a chaser, at least, Draco mused. His broom may have been fast and his eye may have been keen, but his arm would never be able to pitch a good throw, even if he had Weasley as a keeper. "I'm more of an asset than you originally expected."

Harry moved toward the sliding glass door, and unlocked it before stepping outside. "Hey! Potter! Acknowledge what I just said, dammit!" Draco pulled himself up off the bed and followed him outside onto the deck. It was worth abandoning the conversation, though. If there was one thing that was more beautiful in the muggle world than anything magic could've attained, it was NYC's lit up skyline. Gold and neon sparkled for what seemed like kilometers on end, all framed boldly against the black and purple of the night air. Draco had personally never seen anything like it. Maybe in London, if he could remember a time where he'd been there in the evening, but even then it was nothing compared to this.

"You are an asset." Draco didn't expect him to say it, but it was nice to hear. He leaned against the railing and looked out. Harry did the same.

"I always thought that hearing you say something like that- something nice- would be just another play on your part to follow up on your Saviour of the World act," Draco said, "But I'm surprised to say that it's not."

"Damn straight it's not."

Draco paused to momentarily button up the collar on his coat. The view was spectacular; the breeze was not.

"Hey, Malfoy."

Once again, Draco looked up, this time expecting some other sort of life-investigative question or another. But Harry only hesitated.

"I'd just," he started, "Like to thank you. You know. For putting up with me all day. I was just so upset over Ron and Ron and Hermione together and Ron and Hermione apart-"

"I get it. It's no problem."

Harry offered a sheepish smile. "They're my best friends. I don't like the idea of them losing each other," he offered, shrugging. "I don't like the idea of losing anyone."

"Understandably," Draco commented. "But you know, you can't play hero to everyone. Some people are bound to refuse."

Harry looked at Draco. "Did you?"

This caused Draco to cough out a laugh and look down at his shoes to confirm their status as 'tied'. "No, I suppose I didn't. I'm here, having a civilized chat with you, after all." In fact, Harry was closer than he would've preferred, but there was only so much he could do about it right now. _Keep it together, Malfoy_.

"Guess that makes me a big-headed hero then, finally. Just like you've been saying all these years, eh Malfoy?"

Harry turned to look at Draco, and they were shoulder to shoulder, and Draco could feel the warmth emanating from Harry's overcoat. There was no animosity, and for the first time in eighteen years, there were no barriers whatsoever. There was only agreement, and dare he think it- _trust_.

Draco was already yelling at himself.

"In your dreams, Potter."

His conscience was shouting, and his blood was telling him something was wrong, but his muscles didn't listen. He didn't know how it happened, and couldn't recall it if he wished the world upon it, but the heat from Harry's face was against his, and his lips were dangerously close to committing a hazard sin, but their breath was already laced with scent and _damn_ Draco couldn't see much . . .

It was quick, just a brush if anything at all, but after a second of sanguine ignorance Draco's logic kicked back into a functioning mode and he turned away sharply. If he could breathe at all, he'd surely be hyperventilating.

". . . I'm sorry," he said in disbelief, his eyes wide against the windy altitude. "I don't know what . . . I'm sorry . . ."

To his worst expectations, Harry didn't say anything. Nothing at all. He glanced at Draco, but had little emotion displayed at all. He wouldn't look him in the eye, that was for certain.

_Fuck. _Draco's mind was reeling. _Fuck fucking fuck!_

He'd just blown it all to pieces. _All_ of it.

Draco Malfoy had just kissed Harry Potter.

Draco Malfoy was gay.

He re-entered the suite and sat down on the edge of his bed, and sunk into his hands. If he could've garnered the personal strength to slap himself, he would've. But unfortunately, there was a lot that seemed to be lacking right now. It seemed like hours before Harry had come inside and closed the glass door, but he stood, still holding the handle, when he finally spoke.

"You wrote my paper. I owed you. So my favor to you is to keep quiet. Sound alright?" he asked, his voice flatter than it usually was.

Draco nodded, unable to say anything. It was more than he was hoping for.

Draco Malfoy had just kissed Harry Potter.

Draco Malfoy was fucked.

* * *

A/N: Yargh, I've finally hit 70 pages of single-spaced size 10 font writing this thing. Trust me, folks, that's a lot for me XD I also obviously have little to no French training, as I took Spanish and Japanese and neither of those helped with this chapter. So forgive me/feel free to help me out if anything looked awkward. Also, as serious and downtrodden as this may be right now, I have always been one for fluff, so for fans of that, it will come. Eventually. Yeah. Review if you feel like dancing =)


	12. Cover Ups

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

His fingers were interlaced with each other, the left hand in the right, as he analyzed their mechanics fervently. They were much more interesting than what Pansy had to say. She always managed to drone on in an unnecessarily tinkling voice, making the subject of her sentences even more disgusting to listen to than they were already. Draco focused on not focusing. It was an effort, really, to drown her out, and even after all of these years, he still hadn't managed to perfect it. Besides, he didn't _want_ to hear what she had to say. She was already getting "hot" in vacinity to his "secret", as Pansy put it, and she kept repeating phrases in-between her sentences- "_Am I warm yet? No?"_ and tossing whatever recognition Draco gave out the window with "_You're lying, I can tell. I'm getting warmer!" _

His forehead was leaning on the crest of his knuckles, his eyes purposefully not making contact with hers. She asked him something that he didn't catch, so it was only a matter of milliseconds before she smacked him in the arm.

"What?"

She put on a pout, making her pixie-pug features look smaller than they were. "Answer me!"

"I didn't hear what you said," he said, his voice raising. They were in the library, so unfortunately for Draco, his voice echoed more loudly than it should've.

"Shut up, you heard every word. You're simply choosing not to answer."

Draco's veins were beginning to show. He grabbed Pansy by the back of her collar and dragged her towards him (which wasn't far, since she was already seated on the arm of his seat). "I'm done," he whispered curtly at her. "If you want to talk, then I'd suggest you start having a conversation with somebody else. But as far as I'm concerned, your _interview _is over."

She gave him a concentrated glare that lasted for the entirety of his words, before sliding off the armchair into a standing position. "You're not doing much to disprove the point I made earlier." She took a stride in the opposite direction, staring up at the bookstacks in an idle position.

"What? I'm telling you to go find another victim for tonight. I personally couldn't stand listening to you for another half hour if my mother's life depended on the act," Draco scowled. He was being brutally honest tonight, that was for sure.

Well, brutally honest about everything but the subject Pansy was trying to pry into.

She'd been asking about the weekend, and quite naturally, Draco was _not_ going to talk about it. After Saturday's disaster, their Sunday was left to distanced conversation and traveling back to the school. Harry wasn't showing any signs of hatred or disgust over what had happened, but what was really ripping Draco apart on the inside was that Harry wasn't showing any signs of _anything_. No anger, no upset, not even a nervous sort of reaction. No, Harry was completely placid on Sunday, and that was two days ago. And thirty-six hours of not knowing what was going on in Potter's mind was _hell_.

Not that Draco actually _cared_ what Potter thought, because he wasn't planning on seeing Potter again anytime soon, other than in their dormitory. He wasn't allowing himself to care, at this moment in time. He didn't want to even venture into thinking about what Harry thought. As long as he didn't go back on his word and kept his mouth shut, Draco was all right with the situation. It was something he could stomach and never remind himself of again.

"No, you're reluctant to talk to me, that's all," Pansy retorted.

"Damn right, I am."

She smiled, but almost in a mocking sort of way. "I don't think it's because of me. I think it's all-on-you," she said, accentuating each of the last three letters of her sentence by poking a finger at Draco's chest. And, to make matters worse, she lingered there, letting her hand trail around the stitching of his shirt. He felt himself redden, but only because he didn't fancy the idea of her _touching_ him all the time. He got anything but enjoyment out of it, that was now for sure.

Pansy let herself slip back onto the armchair rest and down onto his lap, before Draco had any chance to shove her off completely. "You see," she started slowly, watching her hand make contact with his body, "If my notion is correct, which I'm positive it is, you don't feel any sort of anticipation towards _this_, do you."

"Pansy, get the hell off of me."

"Look, I'm doing you a favor. You don't need to explain what happened with Potter at all," she said, moving in closer. At this point, Draco was ready to punch her. He didn't care if she was a girl. He'd gotten in plenty of fights with girls before (Granger not included- that was a dirty play on her part, back in their third year).

"The bloody hell you are," he said, eyeing the library as best he could to make sure no one was around to see what she was doing to him. Death by adolescent female. It was laughable, completely laughable.

She looked him square in the eye, and with an absolutely serious face, she voiced her command. "Fondle me."

Draco gave a double-take as he whipped back around to look at her. _What_ did she just say? "I most certainly will _not_," he said, his voice cracking from the unexpectedness of it all.

"Exactly! You won't! It's plainly obvious that you have other preferences, Draco, and the female body is definitely not one of them!"

His face grew hotter than it already was. "Have you stopped to consider, Pansy, that not every member of the male species would enjoy you as a partner? Maybe I'm holding out for someone with a little more _finesse_," he said, noting that Pansy definitely did not have any.

She sighed, getting back up into a standing position. "No, Draco, the fact of the matter is and shall remain that you are completely and unavoidably gay!"

Her voice echoed with conviction throughout the library, but was interrupted _just_ in time by the entrance of the three most prevalent Gryffindors that were still remaining in the States- Potter, Granger, and Longbottom had managed to come inside at the most incriminating moment possible, and were now staring at Draco and Pansy with an awkward tension.

"Now. Do it now," Draco whispered in a small voice, as that was all he could manage to get out in his state of shock.

"What? Do wha-"

But before she could finish her question, Draco pulled her forward with so much force that she fell into him as he snogged her, as ridiculously and as passionately as he could to cover up for his terror of the onlookers. She (for whatever reason, since she'd just figured out his sexuality) eventually melted into it as well, and became as heated as he seemingly was. He'd deal with the mental scarring from the situation later.

"What were you saying again, Parkinson?" Draco said in a shaky but confident-sounding voice after she'd pulled away, loud enough so that the others heard it.

Pansy, taking a deep and hard look at Draco, slapped him. He raised his hand to his face, shocked. What the hell, she'd just got what she'd always wanted, hadn't she?

There was a stifled laugh from Granger, at the other end of the library's atrium, as she dragged Longbottom and Potter back out the door. But Draco couldn't help but notice the look on Harry's face as he left. If he didn't know any better, Potter looked, well, pissed. Not upset, not disgusted, but genuinely angry.

Well, shit.

But, Draco mused, one thing was for certain. That was the first expression he'd gotten out of Harry in three days.

* * *

Hermione was sitting across from Harry in the fourth floor drawing room, her legs crossed as she poured over another leather-bound bible-length book. She was receptive, to say the least; after Ron had left last week she seemed almost cheery. Harry knew better, of course, and assumed that this was her latest attempt at covering up for what was likely a heavy emotional downpour. After all, Ron was Hermione's boyfriend. Or something like it. At least they kind of acted that way. Nothing had ever been sealed between the two of them, as nothing had been said after the war, but it was naturally suggested that Ron and Hermione were made-for-each-other and off to elope in the Bahamas. They were giddy, at the very least, back in May.

But six and a half months had already passed, and it was nearing Christmas, and somehow the two of them had already managed to fizzle out. Maybe it was due to the fact that Hermione had nearly lived with the Weasley's all summer (as did Harry, but when _didn't_ he do that?), and the tension of everyday life was intruding upon their "honeymoon stage". Harry had to wonder why he'd never felt that tension with Ginny. It was probably because the two of them were so relaxed about their relationship, and they never felt the need to let other things get in the way.

Harry tried to envision this as the right answer, but couldn't. As much as he wanted to insist that he and Ginny were all right, he knew the truth behind the matter was that the distance, combined with their general lack of communication, was taking a huge toll on their emotions. Or at least, should have been. For whatever reason, be it laxation or distraction, Harry didn't really feel anything at all. He was almost . . . _okay_ with being away. He missed her, from time to time, but he didn't feel as though he was dying on the inside.

Not like Hermione was.

There had already been a couple of times within the past few hours in which Hermione had started to choke up. Harry didn't have the heart to tell her exactly why Ron had left without telling Hermione in the first place. Harry didn't exactly understand it either, but if it gave the two of them a break, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing.

"What page are you on, Harry?" Hermione asked, flipping through her book and looking up in the hopes that Harry was keeping up.

"I- uh, well, I haven't started on the homework yet, if that's what you're after," he said.

She did a funny thing with her mouth that almost resembled a smile. "Oh. Okay. Let me know when you do." She looked back down at her book and flipped a page.

Harry glanced at his notes from the other day (which were hardly legible, since he never really took notes that well in the first place) and scanned the sheet for his assignment. They were supposed to go over Charms Theory, which he wished he was as good at as people told him his mother was. But it wasn't his worst subject, not by far, and it was occasionally enjoyable, especially when in the right company. It would be a little disappointing that he wouldn't have Ron around to mess spells up with. If he wasn't busy still being angry about Ron's decision, he might've thought the situation was a little sad.

He picked up the heaviest book of the lot, and let it drop against his knees as he opened it up. It creaked, and a cloud of dust floated out as though the book was releasing spores, and after a good cough or two he heaved the pages by the ten's.

Hermione looked up again. "You're starting, then?"

"Maybe," Harry admitted. "I'm kind of just going to look through the sections a bit."

"Right . . . " she mumbled, focusing her attention back at her own book. She flipped another page. It was then that Harry realized she had been doing that a lot. In fact . . .

"You're not reading that," Harry said easily.

She looked up, an eyebrow cocked. "What do you mean? Of course I'm reading it."

"Hermione, you've flipped three pages in the last minute."

She squinted, and recognized defeat at the hands of her best friend. "Okay, so I'm skimming. There's nothing wrong with that, you and Ron seem to do it all the time."

She'd made a crack at her own floodgates. Harry was prepared for this.

"Well, Ron never really read at all. He always kind of relied on me to help him out . . ." She flipped another page, a little more tersely this time. "_How_ he passed his O.W.L.s I'll never understand . . . "

"Hermione," Harry started, in an offer to change the subject, but as expected, she kept going. She had this habit of talking herself into a logical oblivion, and Harry wasn't sure how to treat it this time around. Not when Ron was the subject.

"No, _really_. He just manages to get through it all like he's bloody invincible. No offense to you, of course, Harry, you do the same thing, but that's natural for you." She said this all with increasing speed, as though she was at debate with herself, only there was no opposing side.

She accidentally ripped a page on her next attempt.

"Hermione, come over here. Please."

Her eyes were welling up as she stared at the torn book. She stared at the content on the separated page, and gently, placed it back into the spine of the book. Harry had never seen her move so slowly.

"This book was over a century old . . . "

And she sniffed, wiping the wetness out of her vision while suppressing oncoming hiccups. Harry moved to her instead, and pulled her against his shoulder. Her words became muted against his knit jumper. "I can't believe he didn't want to tell me."

Harry held her, as he had many times before, offering the only comfort he could in the form of his friendship. She shivered as she took in air, and Harry was oddly reminded of the last time he'd dealt with someone emotionally breaking down. He harped on the idea for a moment, but had to focus on Hermione, as she needed him right now and her hair was anything but blonde.

"Ron can be that way sometimes. You know that. We've both seen the best and the worst in him," Harry said softly. "But . . . he always comes back. One way or another."

Hermione nodded into his chest, but didn't say anything.

"And you know what?" Harry said more brightly. "You've always got me here. At least we're not alone in this thing."

She nodded again, and after another few minutes, she attempted to straighten herself. Her face was incredibly pink from her bout, but she tried to retain her usual manner as she spoke. "Yeah. I know. I'm glad we're all here together," she said, wiping her eyes. "I mean, you and me and Neville and Luna . . . "

"Yeah. And hey, if you ever get a revenge streak, I can owl Krum for you," he said jokingly, seriously hoping that matters would not come down to that. He did not like the idea of having to deal with Krum again very much.

She laughed anyway. "Yeah, I'll bet that'll slap some sense into Ron." She looked up, her usually framed face seeming much more open. "I just don't get it, though, Harry. Why leave when everything was here?"

Harry pulled Hermione back into a hug. "I don't know. I guess Ron's hopes and dreams are just a little different than ours."

She sniffed back a large-sounding mucus, but Harry didn't mind. "I'm just so confused, Harry."

Harry thought about what she said, but for some reason it didn't apply only to Ron. In light of all the recent events, the only way he could respond was simple. "Me too, Hermione. Me too."

* * *

The door clicked open with an easy sound as Harry kicked his bag inside. It was getting heavier, no doubt, unless he was getting out of shape due to the lack of regular quidditch season practices. He was the first one in the room, and took the opportunity to getting a running start toward his bed. It really was nice to get some time to himself, seeing as he hardly got that . . . well, ever. When he wasn't with Ron or Hermione, he was at the Dursley's all his life, and that was more than enough work in itself. And now, here, he was stuck in a room with one of the last people on earth he'd ever choose as a roommate.

But . . . things weren't that bad. Something between him and Draco had changed, at least in terms of getting along. He could at least appreciate his company. After all, he'd have to get used to it now that Ron was gone. Next to Neville, he really didn't associate that much with any of the other eighth-years, or at least not on a personal level. Go figure, that he had to choose between Draco and Neville. And was greatly considering Draco.

Aside from what had happened on Saturday night, he was alright with the Slytherin. Of course, he was taken completely off-guard by his _display_, but Harry wasn't going to bring that up anytime soon. He wasn't even going to think about it. Harry had had too much in his life happen all at once, now, being a prime example, and Draco's . . . _preferences_ were the least of his problems.

And yet, there was something that _made_ him think about it. He wasn't sure if he was upset over it, or disgusted- no, he definitely wasn't disgusted. But there was something.

And if as on cue, Draco unlocked the dormitory door and dumped a load of books on his bed. He didn't say anything to Harry, which, Harry figured, was due to the usual nature of the blonde. If he wasn't talking, he wasn't talking. Harry was more than obliged to enjoy the silence.

Draco sat on the edge of his bed and sorted through his pile. It was strange, as they were the only two in the room, but nothing new. Harry had learned that Draco wasn't too obnoxious a roommate, at least when they weren't threatening to kill one another.

_Or snogging_.

Harry immediately shoved the thought to the back of his mind. If that wasn't one of the strangest nights of his life, he didn't know what was. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, friends. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, enjoying a romantic dinner and swapping saliva. Welcome to the apocalypse, enjoy the wine.

Draco eventually finished what he was doing and paused to stare at Harry. He really needed to stop doing that. Granted, Harry had taken most of the sixth year out to stalk Malfoy, but that was a different matter entirely.

"So you're not going to say anything?" Draco asked curtly, breaking the silence and causing Harry to rip himself out of his thoughts.

"Erhm . . . do you _want_ me to?" Harry asked, feeling rather stupid.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "Of course I do. You haven't said anything worthwhile in the past seventy-two hours, and I'd rather not be sharing a room with a statue, thanks."

Harry smiled to himself. "Alright. What do you want me to talk about?"

"Do I look like I care? Just say something so I don't fall asleep before dinner."

"Oh, right, this is about you again," Harry joked.

"Absolutely," Draco caught on.

"Alright then," Harry started, sitting up. There was one thing he knew would catch Draco's interest, at least. "What was with Pansy Parkinson this afternoon? Get yourself some good jollies out of that?"

As predicted, Draco's face immediately hardened. "She's been trying to get at me since we were thirteen. I thought you of all people would have noticed that."

Harry wasn't sure what Draco meant by that. "What? Why me?"

Draco leaned over to tuck a spare book he'd missed under the comforter. "Well, you monitored my every goddamn move during our sixth year. And I doubt less every year before and after that."

"You noticed that?" Harry asked, his interest sharply peaked. "I thought I was being inconspicuous!"

"Hardly."

Harry stared at Draco, slightly impressed, before sinking back down into his bedspread. "Huh." Some auror he'd make if he was that easy to let on.

"Potter."

"Yeah?"

"Why did you look so angry."

Harry looked up. "Why did I what? When?"

Draco was looking over his shoulder to double-check for books. "The Parkinson incident." Harry nearly had to laugh, Draco had said it so plainly.

"I don't know. Maybe I was disgusted by the view of Pansy's arse. I don't remember."

In all honesty, Harry didn't know why he'd felt like that. Harry still didn't know a lot of things.

"Likely. It scares me too," Draco commented. They mutually grinned.

Harry was stepping out of his boundaries, that was for sure, but he couldn't help but be curious. "So . . . when we walked in. What she was saying. What was that all about?"

Draco turned on what Harry knew to be a poker face. After watching him so much in school, it wasn't hard to tell when something struck a chord with the blonde.

"She was insulting me for ditching her this weekend. I suppose that's the best she could come up with." Draco would not catch Harry's eye.

Harry didn't say anything for what felt like a long time, but it couldn't have been anything more than a few tens of seconds. "Drac- Malfoy, you snogged her."

There was a general look of consensus spread upon Draco's face. "Yes, I did. To get her off of me at the very least."

"And you kissed me."

Draco stopped short, but caught himself. " . . . Yes, I suppose I did." It sounded incredibly strained, and he said it under his voice. "Though I remember, Potter, we had a deal regarding that; you shouldn't be bringing it u-"

"So you are," he said. "Bent, I guess I mean."

Draco paused again, and it looked like he was having an incredibly hard time forcing himself to find the right words. "Let's just not go into that territory of conversation, Potter."

"I wouldn't care either way," Harry said simply. It was just something he'd never had to face before.

Draco studied him, and Harry felt slightly uncomfortable, but moreso because he felt as though the Slytherin would break into another argument.

"You can stop with all that 'hero' rubbage. If you want to hate me, hate me."

"But I don't." Harry shrugged. "I can stand you, at least. I took you with me to the city, right?"

"Yeah, yeah but that- that was before you knew- I mean, do you get what I'm implying?"

"Not at all," Harry laughed. Draco pulled himself forward and rested his head on his hands. "You're not supposed to like me. We're not supposed to like _each other_. And you're definitely not supposed to help me out in this," Draco spat.

"But I don't have a problem with-"

"You went three days without saying a word to me, Potter! Do you _realize_ what that does to a person? You can't like me, and then hate me, and then pretend we're best mates all in the same week!"

Harry watched Draco intently. "But I never hated you, where the bloody hell did you get that idea?"

"You hardly said anything. Naturally, I assumed you felt some sort of animosity towards me because of what happened on Saturday."

Harry couldn't tell Draco exactly why he'd avoided him.

"I'm sorry, Draco, but I was busy, and I-"

"And you what? And there you are, using my name again."

"Sorry, _Malfoy_. I- well, I . . . " He what? "I'm still working things out."

Draco scoffed. "I should never have gone with you. Not if you're going to be an arse about it all."

Harry stared up at the ceiling and waited for Draco to say something, _anything_ else. He didn't want to have to go into an explanation of what he wasn't even sure about yet. One thing was for certain; he was stressed and upset over Ron's leave, but his new association with Draco was something else entirely. It was proving to be more than he'd bargained for. But . . . he couldn't keep his mind off of certain things, and he felt the need to talk about it. Draco may have grown up with the necessity to repress every last emotion, but Harry always had close friends right there to weed it all out of him.

"I'm glad you did."

Draco didn't say anything. Harry assumed he was calculating things in his mind, like he always seemed to be doing.

Neither spoke for another unnaturally long period of time. Harry had been doing a lot of thinking. If Draco could trust him to something of an incriminating nature, could he possibly trust Draco with the like?

"Malfoy."

Harry heard a sigh from the other side of the room. "What is it _now_?"

"I'm . . . I think I'm breaking up with Ginny."

Draco didn't answer immediately, but he answered simply. Harry was grateful for that.

"Oh." Harry paused, waiting for anything else that would follow.

It did.

"Call me Draco. You keep messing it up anyway."

* * *

A/N: Loooong week. Next few days will also be loooong. On the bright side, it's BIRTHDAY WEEK. Yay. Cake for everyone. This chapter also felt short, but it was about the same length. Maybe I'm just hallucinating due to my post-shift mental state =D


	13. For Hire

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

Harry pulled off his right Mrs. Weasley-knit glove in order to tear open the envelope. Immediately he regretted the cold, but on the bright side of things, his hand was just numb enough to shield him from the paper cut he'd just received. He mentally swore from his carelessness, but was more anxious to see what was written on the letter. Thinking back, he really should have phrased his message to Ginny differently. Somehow, between two clouds of stupidity and unwillingness, he'd forgotten to actually write out the phrase "I think we should just be friends", or any of its variations. No, instead, he'd merely written that he'd have to forego the Christmas vacation he was invited to (because he wasn't ready to face Ron either, for that matter) in favor of working with Lupin and Tonks on a "project". Hermione, on the other hand, would be accompanying the Weaselys, so he'd have to talk her into retelling a story about Harry-Training-Alone. That was believable, right?

He held his breath as he unfolded the parchment, a different style of stationery this time. Scanning the two short paragraphs, he didn't see any sign of alarm- according to her, Harry training was "the usual".

_That doesn't surprise me. I guess I'll have to wait a bit longer to see you then? I do hope you finish early enough to stop by for the New Year_, she'd written. Harry felt a sharp pang of guilt in his stomach. He knew he'd only be dragging this out. But it was Ginny, and he felt strongly towards her, even if it wasn't as strongly as he'd liked. She at least deserved a talk, in-person.

He breathed out heavily. Where had he gone wrong? Didn't he just love the girl a year ago? Though he'd had to convince himself in the past few months that he was indeed _in_ love and _in _a relationship, there just seemed to be too much going on that strangled the chemistry. He'd certainly loved her in school. Had a crush on her, at the very least. But there was just something that seemed to be off about it. They'd never done anything past snogging. Never gone on an actual date. Hell, Harry had been on dates with Cho Chang and fucking _Malfoy_, but not Ginny.

'Course, Malfoy didn't count. That was all a big laugh anyway. It wasn't a romantic date by far, and Harry surely wasn't considering it one. They didn't go out to dinner- erh, well, okay, they did, but it was unplanned and completely free of charge- and they didn't get all touchy-feely . . . not much. And if it was a date, it would've ended in some sort of snog-

Harry let his head sink into his arms as he leaned against the railing of the owlery. That was the problem. They'd done all of that. He'd bloody done _all_ of that with _Malfoy_. He couldn't just pretend that none of it had happened. He definitely couldn't pretend that Malfoy- or Draco, or whatever he was supposed to call him now- had virtually _come out_ to him.

_"So you are. Bent, I guess I mean." _

_"Let's just not go into that territory of conversation, Potter." _

Harry mused over the day before. Draco had never actually said a yes or a no. And it was true, what Harry had said. He could be okay with it. _Why_, he didn't know, but it was honest, to say the least. He could be mostly, maybe not completely, okay with the idea of Draco being gay. It wasn't going to change the fact that Draco was a fucking wanker.

But god, he liked having that fucking wanker around.

Somehow, Draco made Harry want to both punch him and spend a casual afternoon together all at the same time. When he wasn't being aggravating, narcissistic, or, you know, evil, he could be an okay guy. Maybe Harry forgave him for everything that had happened with the Malfoy family, and was being subconsciously sympathetic, or maybe Harry actually enjoyed his company. He didn't know. All he recognized when he was around the blonde was the feeling of his insides tangling more and more as time passed. At first, he thought it was his temper, but it was still there even when he was emotionally placid. No, Harry knew this feeling, and he was as unwilling to label it now as he was when it first began to spring up.

This was the same feeling he'd felt around Cho. This was the same feeling he'd felt around Ginny.

This was the same feeling he had when Malfoy had kissed him.

Harry pocketed the letter and stuffed the glove back onto his hand.

This was not good.

* * *

"Mr. Malfoy? I've got some forms for you to sign, if you'd come over to my office in a bit."

Draco nodded as he reshuffled the documents on his work desk. "Not a problem, sir. I'll be there in ten minutes or so," he said in the most polite tone he could manage (which, due to having Lucius as a father, was a necessity). He flicked his wand toward the filing cabinet in the corner of the office, which he shared with another younger employee of the American Ministry, and in a few seconds his desk was cleared of invoices. God, he'd only been coming in once a week, and they were already piling on the work as if he was in a tenured position. The last time he'd checked, the position Granger had gotten him wasn't as dedicated as this was.

Still, he was grateful. It got him out of class on Thursdays, and thankfully, got him away from Potter. It was far from being a paid job, because "interns" were here for the experience, and Draco wasn't about to accept an income that hardly rivaled his family's earnings. He had dignity, after all.

Draco stood and made sure to lock the office door. His deskmate wasn't in today, and so there was no need for anyone else to enter the room. They had him in the Department of Domestic Maladies today, meaning every paper he'd had to look at dealt with jealous wives charming kitchen appliances to unsympathetically beat adultering husbands into comas. He switched often, and he wasn't quite sure what they wanted him there for, but any reference was a good reference at this point. They knew fully of his family name and their . . . _affiliations_, but that didn't seem to affect his hire whatsoever. Either the American Ministry had to be extremely open, or it was filled to the brim with a lot of outright duffers.

As he approached the office of his higher-up, he straightened his tie. Though he didn't care to admit it in front of any of his former housemates, and especially not in front of Potter, this opportunity meant a lot to him. There was certainly no way he was going to get any sort of respectable position in the British Ministry. Sure, if Potter was to join up, which he _would_, he would probably try to pull some sort of move of chivalry that got Shacklebolt to lighten up (and he only knew this because Potter had insisted on trying it many times). Draco didn't want to get in on word of mouth. All his damn life, he'd gotten by through his family name, or through connections- not that he was complaining about it, because it definitely had its perks, but for once, he felt as though he should at least prove that he could get a job on his _own_. To live independent of the Malfoy name.

_That_ was an intimidating thought.

His supervisor cordially ushered him into the room when Draco got to the door. "C'mon, kid, in you go. You see that stack?" he asked, motioning toward a moderately-sized pile of papers on top of his desk. "Get started on those. No, it's not work," he said, after Draco must've made an unsavory facial expression. "We've got to get you into our filing system so we can have you on record. Don't want to make you do this every year," he said, giving Draco a pat on the shoulder.

"Every year?" Draco asked, confused.

"Well, yes, if you're not in our system by the next quarter, then you'll probably have to fill this all out again in August-"

Draco turned to face his supervisor, still unaware of what he was getting at. "Sir, in all due respect, I'm only in the States until April."

"Oh? But I thought you accepted the full-time position?"

_What? _"I- I wasn't aware I was _offered_ a full-time position," Draco said. "I mean, let's be realistic, I just started here, right?"

His supervisor, a burly man, pulled out a chair and sat squat in it, the frame backwards. "Well then. Sandra in Employee Relations was supposed to have notified you by now. We got a tip from your reference- Ms. Hermes Granger, was it?- but let's face the facts, Mr. Malfoy, you and your don't come equipped with just any ordinary set of skills."

Draco wasn't sure where he was going with this. And he wasn't sure if that last part was a compliment or a warning.

"You have quite the reputation, Mr. Malfoy," his supervisor continued. "We're not ones to judge, particularly as it wasn't our war to fight, but I do believe your superior marks from your schooling years and the approval of Hogwarts' Headmistress more than sufficiently make up for any decisions your family has made in recent years." He looked Draco in the eye. "I hope you consider the position I'm offering you. It's nowhere near as physically active as the careers your friends are training for, I'm sure," he laughed, "but should you work enough with our Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, I'm sure you'll be more than ready to take over after his retirement in five years."

"You're . . . " Draco was at a loss for words, which was definitely something he wasn't used to. "You're kidding me. Work with the head of the department? McGonagall referred me? You've got to be joking-"

"Not at all"

Draco felt the need to regurgitate his psyche's Leap of Faith, but regained his poise for as long as he could. "I'm not sure I'm well-equipped enough, sir, as much as I'd like to accept."

"What are you talking about? You finished a quarter of the reports for the head of the department in the last week. You're more than well-equipped."

A quarter of the reports? Those bloody bastards!That's why he'd had so much extra work?

"I- well, I guess I have to thank you then, sir. I'm definitely interested, to say the least." He stood up to shake his hand, still dumbstruck.

"I won't take a 'no' from you, Malfoy. I'll see you in here next week." His supervisor began to exit the office, but retraced his steps and poked his head back into the open doorway. "Oh yeah, as I was saying, finish those forms. There should only be about thirty of them."

* * *

Draco entered the room more loudly than he should've, but waking his roommates up was the last thing he cared about. He was tired, starved, and needed a good shower, but most importantly, he didn't know what to think. He'd just landed the career opportunity of a lifetime, and he hadn't even _done_ anything to attain it, in his opinion. It was unbelievable, for that matter, that he'd gotten it through the help of McGongagall, of all people. It would also mean a permanent relocation to another country. Would he care about that?

Blaise Zabini gave a snore so loud that he nearly choked himself awake.

Nope.

"What the hell, Malfoy? It's one in the morning," he said wearily, his face still muffled by a pile of pillows. Potter's face was more than visible, on the other hand, as his entire body had managed to do a 360-rotation in bed, so that his head was at the foot of the bed.

"I had work. Get over it."

"Fffkk yyuuu," Zabini mumbled, his mouth re-buried by comforter. Draco smiled in return, though he knew Zabini wasn't even looking.

Something from Potter's side of the room made a movement. "Draco, shut off that light, will you?" Harry said, groaning. Draco sincerely hoped that Zabini was too tired to catch the faux-pas of his name.

Draco happily let his coat and newly-engraved briefcase drop to the floor with a loud _thud_, ignoring Potter's request the best he could.

"Draco! Seriously!" Harry said, his eyes still squinted shut, as he flung a pillow in the general direction of Draco's voice. It missed, and hit the wall dangerously close to the mirror.

"Whahh the fckk you gysss," Zabini said, resurfacing again. "Please? _Please _Malfoy? I don't know what possessed you to be so awake right now, but keep it down, will you?"

Draco sat cross-legged on his bed in a very childish manner. "I got a job. A _permanent_ job. I can be as loud as I want. I shouldn't even have to go to classes anymore."

Harry opened his eyes and sat up. After a moment of confusion (Draco assumed Harry was not expecting to wake up backwards), he reached for his glasses. "What? Where? The Ministry?"

"Yeah. They hired me on. I'm just as surprised as you are, Potter."

"So, wait, what are you doing? Are you still going to train here?"

"Shut UP," Zabini growled. "Take it outside, will you? I'm beat, so go be best friends somewhere else."

Draco and Harry exchanged amused glances, and immediately got up to leave. Draco was tired, yes, but he figured he wasn't going to get to bed anytime soon if he kept this train of thought going.

"Best friends, huh? Imagine that, Draco," Harry said after they'd gotten their coats on and were idling down the hallway.

"Sod off. Don't get any thoughts, Potter." Draco grinned, but kept his glance at the floor.

"You know, it's not fair to make me use your first name if I'm stuck with my last."

"I have been calling you whatever the ruddy hell I like for the last eight years and that's not going to stop anytime soon," Draco snapped jokingly.

Harry shoved Draco as they walked, causing the blonde to fall behind a few steps. "So then, tell me about your job. What happened? How did you get it?" Harry asked, looking back at him.

Draco then began to tell him whatever detail he could recount, occasionally bragging at times, but relaying the honest truth. "I have no idea how it happened, but it did. I'd say that's the best luck I've had since I've been here."

Harry nodded in agreement. "No, you haven't had too much of that, have you?" he joked. "You and me both."

Draco looked sideways at Harry once he'd caught up. "What makes you say that? You've got loads of reasons to celebrate. You're Harry fucking Potter, go ride your golden carousel into the sky with Dumbledore, Shacklebolt, and that Hargid monstrosity you seem to be so fond of."

Harry had to laugh at the visual. It was likely the first time Draco had gotten away with an insult that Harry didn't feel the need to clock him for. "I dunno. Hermione's depressed, Ron's being ridiculous, Ginny's, well, you know."

"I don't."

Draco noticed Harry's pause in conversation, but he managed to continue smoothly. If Draco hadn't been looking at him, he wouldn't have caught it at all.

"I sent her a letter."

"So you broke up with her, then."

"No."

Draco shot Harry a look of disapproval, but Harry shrugged. "I'm sorry! I tried to work it in, but . . . it didn't really fit the letter. And I mean, come on, I don't want to crush her feelings before the holidays."

"I thought you were going off with the Weasels for the holidays. Don't you always do that?"

Harry paused again. "Yeah. I guess I do. This year will just be too, I don't know, unfair. I don't think I should be there, with Ron pissed . . . and it's Bill and Fleur's first holiday as spouses . . . "

"And Ginny."

"Yes, and Ginny." Draco felt Harry eye him carefully.

"What made you decide to drop the relationship?" Draco asked flatly. Harry didn't reply right away, so he recanted. "Sorry. Shouldn't be asking that. I forgot, you're emotionally drained over leaving her."

"I'm not. That's the thing."

"I know, Potter, I was being sarcastic. You don't hide these things well."

Harry grunted as they began to ascend the stairs. "Just call me Harry, will you? I can't shake the feeling that you're going to hex my arse when you say my name like that."

"Fine, _Harry_. You don't hide your temper very well either," Draco said.

Harry attempted to shove Draco yet again, but expecting it, he avoided the attack. He heard Harry sigh, and knew he'd returned to thinking about the previous subject. "I guess it's a part of moving on. I grew out of her, I suppose."

"And what did you grow into?"

Harry made a sharp focus on the ground. "I'm still figuring that one out, Draco."

Neither of them said anything while they paused on one of the final steps that led to the upper floors. Draco really had no clue where they were going, and realized they'd been aimlessly wandering during the conversation. It wasn't bad, but something still felt off now that Harry wasn't responding.

"I'm sorry I brought it up. Next time, we don't have to talk about it-" Draco said, before being interrupted.

"-No. No, it's fine."

Draco sat down on the topmost step. "I'm just curious, that's all. All I've ever had for a girlfriend was Pansy, you know that."

Harry followed Draco's decision and sat down next to him. "Yeah. No, don't worry. It's not Ginny or the conversation or anything." He turned and offered a polite smile.

Draco nodded, and looked forward. "Alright." Harry seemed to be forcing it out now, so Draco wasn't about to go and intercede on his thoughts, especially after he'd just woken him up. The school was drafty, so it was a good thing he'd grabbed his coat before leaving the room, but it wasn't doing enough for him once he'd stopped moving and sat down. He tried readjusting one of the clasps, before Harry spoke again.

"Draco." Just as clean and simple as that.

"Yeah?"

Harry gave a strange sort of laugh to himself. "Do you mind . . . " he started, switching his line of sight from the staircase to Draco's direction. "Can I- can I see your hand?"

Draco furrowed an eyebrow in confusion. "There's nothing there, you've already seen my arm-" he said, offering it anyway to prove his statement. God, he hoped Harry wasn't being ridiculously suspicious over something imaginary.

But, as Draco tried to follow what Harry was doing, he met a wall of unsurity. Harry took his hand, and instead of inspecting it, he merely looked at it. It was strange; he shouldn't have had any reason to, right? Was there something Draco was missing? But no, it seemed as though it was alright, and Harry took it in his own and held it laced. That's all he did, and it was confusing, to say the least. Wonderful, to Draco's insides, but confusing.

" . . . Harry?"

This caused him to drop Draco's hand immediately. "Sorry."

Again, he didn't say anything to Draco after that. "Are- Is there something wrong?" the blonde asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, barely audible.

"What is it? Are you okay?"

"I just wanted to know. I'm sorry."

Draco was beginning to feel alarmed. It wasn't every day that Harry did something like that.

"Know? Know what, Potter?"

Harry smiled nervously and looked up. "If it was nicer than Ginny's." He looked positively sick to his stomach.

Draco didn't want to go there. He was reluctant enough to talk about himself when it came down to _these things_.

But. ". . . And was it?"

Draco's composure was almost dropped as Harry broke into a grin that did not match well with his audibly heaving sinuses and terrified glance. " . . . Yes. Yeah, Draco, it was."

* * *

A/N: Yargh, no 8-hour Graveyard shifts of doom this week. I can actually have a life after classes! Hooray! Also, a note to anyone who might have trouble reading these things if page breaks don't come across. They should. They're in the drafts. They're in the final versions, and they're in the edits on the website. So, if they're not there, I blame my computer. Yay!


	14. Holidays

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

The holidays were greeted with a bout of excitement as most of the eighth years prepared to go home. Not many chose to stay, whether for personal reasons (Harry), disinterest (Draco), or simply because they wanted to stay the fuck away from their parents (Seamus, Justin, and well, the majority of the guys). Hermione had already packed and left with Tonks to catch a portkey, and Harry had to keep back the will to run after them lest he get himself into two weeks of agonizing acting with the Weaselys- _"Sure, Mrs. Weasely, everything's great. Oh hi, Ron, I completely support you! Hey Ginny, let's go pretend that I want to make out"_- but it was weird to see Hermione leave without him, to say the least. Even she'd had a hard time with the decision, and Harry had talked to her on numerous occasions about repairing the relationship. This only led Hermione to call him a hypocrite, because he wouldn't even bother with Ginny.

That was entirely different. He wasn't going to attempt to make up with a girl he hadn't even broken up with yet.

So, here he was, his first Christmas without Ron (he'd thankfully had a Hermione-less holiday his first year, back when she was hundreds of times more annoying than she was now) since Hogwarts. He didn't like where any of this was going. He and Ron hadn't spoke since he'd left, and Hermione was left to piece together Ron's remaining feelings. He hadn't felt so separated from the two of them since- well, ever. Even during their seventh year, and even when Ron had walked out on them in the fall, he had a feeling in his gut that everything would turn out alright. When he wasn't wearing the horcrux, that was.

He sat next to Luna on a long upholstered bench as they watched their classmates load their things into the atrium. He had at least expected her to be leaving with them. Her father wasn't the most responsible man in the world, but he certainly seemed protective of her. But no, she'd insisted on staying behind, and merely smiled quietly as she observed everyone's excitement.

"Neville wanted to stay, too. His grandmother wanted him home to help with the chores," Luna said unexpectedly, but Harry was already desensitized to her random method of conversation. "They're having a family reunion, he said."

Harry was taken aback. "A reunion? Meaning distant relatives, right?"

Luna shook her head softly. "No, I think he tried to make it sound that way, though. Just his parents and them," she said in an oddly bright manner.

Harry stared at Neville from across the atrium. "Oh." It was always an odd thought. Harry knew that Frank and Alice Longbottom were incapable of even keeping track of the holidays, but he often couldn't help but feel a deep sorrow for Neville. He shouldn't have felt as though he needed to keep them, or at least the idea of them, under wraps. He had his parents, no matter how far gone they were, and Harry felt as though Neville was extinguishing their memory by being ashamed. "He could have told us."

Luna straightened herself and leaned backwards on her extended arms. "He doesn't have to. We already know. And I think that's enough for him," she sighed, staring at the chandelier some twenty feet above them.

"Yeah." Harry took in her answer as Dean Thomas accidentally dropped a suitcase down the main staircase. He didn't want to laugh, as his mind did not want to switch emotional gears so quickly, but a strangled sort of chuckle made its way out of him regardless. "Sorry, that was because of Dean," he offered quickly.

"Oh! Did I miss something?" she said, looking back down and surveying the scene. "Was I supposed to laugh?" And after a moment's pause in which she recognized what had happened, she gave a hearty guffaw that was much too delayed.

Harry sunk a bit when everyone looked over, but shrugged. It was Luna. What could he do?

"So . . . Luna," he started, making sure she was finished. "What made you decide to stay here? Is your father out of town?"

"Mmmmm," she hummed, deciding what to say. "No. But I like the trees. We don't have too many of them on our hill," she said.

This wasn't the answer Harry was looking for, but it was an answer he should've expected. But just when he was about to figure out a way to get her to reply like a normal human being, she continued. "My father needs space. I'm growing up, and soon I'll be gone. This will help, I think."

It was the intelligent type of answer that only came out of Luna once a week, if Harry was lucky. He looked at her and gave a small smile. "He cares about you, Luna." _Enough to get him killed._ Yeah, that was a lovely thought.

She swung her feet as she sat. "You've got people that care about you too. But you're staying here, right?"

"Yes, I'm staying here."

"For Draco?" she asked airily.

He shot a look at her, but squashed it quickly. "No, not for- why do you think that, Luna?"

"You look like friends. I've seen you two with Spectraspecs on."

"Let me guess," Harry said. "Too many wrackspurts between us?"

Luna looked at him placidly. "No, you don't seem to have any at all when you're around him. I'd say your brains are completely clear and healthy."

Harry cleared his throat. "Oh. That's good to know." If there was one thing he needed to be assured of, it was the fact that his brain was "completely clear and healthy" when he'd held Draco's hand, or when Draco kissed him, or whenever he was around Draco at all. Great to know, really, exactly how aware he was when he was questioning his sexuality.

Thank you, Luna.

* * *

As most of the staff had left to return home for the holidays, Lupin and Tonks were put in charge of making sure everything ran smoothly for the handful of students that stayed behind. Lupin insisted it wasn't too big of a deal, as they had the cottage to themselves until the school year ended, and the only major responsibility they had was making sure no one died of starvation, should Lupin or Tonks forget about food. Other than that, the students were free to conduct themselves however they wanted, and were urged to find something to do instead of sleeping all day.

Harry noticed that the people he usually spent his free time with had all left for the next two weeks, and with the exception of Seamus and Luna, he never really enjoyed the remainders' company that much. It was only a matter of thirteen hours before Justin Finch-Fletchly began to seriously impede upon his nerves, and not long after that Padma Patil had slapped Michael Corner for trying to cop a feel. Luna and Draco were similar in their interests, and could usually be found reading for hours on end, but no real conversation was to be had with either of them- Luna was, well, Luna, and Draco insisted on being left alone if Harry had nothing in particular to discuss. Because two weeks of living like this would've caused Harry to lose his sanity and take a bludger to somebody's head, he opted for visiting his godson whenever possible.

After this became noticeable to Tonks and Lupin, however, they'd decided that an outing was desperately needed, and as a result all of the remaining students were forced out of the school and into the cold. It was suggested that they enjoy the outdoors, or take a train into the city, as long as they didn't manage to get themselves killed due to a growing angst. When it came to the city, somehow, Harry didn't see how taking the same group of classmates to an even more hectic environment would make anything better. But still, it was refreshing to get out after all, and he was thankful that he had a group of equally unwilling classmates follow in suit.

"This is your fault, Potter, I hope you realize," Draco said begrudgingly as the entire group marched through the snow. It was one of the first times he's spoken a full sentence to Harry since the previous week. "Some of us just couldn't keep to the school and occupy ourselves, could we?"

"'Ey, I'm kind of glad Harry got us out of there," Seamus said from Harry's other flank. "Nice gettin' Tonks to consider it."

"I did _not_ get Tonks to do anything," Harry insisted. "She was the one who came up with the idea."

"Yes, but had you not felt the need to go over and disturb their peace every other hour, we might not be in this situation," Draco said. "You just can't keep to your own bloody business, can you Potter-"

Draco was interrupted by a whack on the back of the head. White flakes settled on the shoulders of his coat, while the original shape of the ball that hit him fell to the ground. He quickly jerked around, and noticed that Padma was cringing. "Sorry, Malfoy, wasn't aiming for you-"

"-Right well you weren't!"

Harry broke into a laugh, and smacked the back of Draco's head hard enough so that the rest of the snow flicked out of his hair. "There, that's better," he joked.

"That's physical abuse," Draco spat, grabbing hold of the spot where Harry had made contact.

Someone from the back of the pack whistled suggestively. Harry didn't have to turn around to know who it came from. "Shut it, Justin."

"Just pointing out the obvious!" he shouted.

Harry whipped around and started for Justin, but Draco caught his coat and forcibly pulled him back into position. "Uh-uh, Potty. Murder him and we'll never made it out of this goddamn town." He then have Harry a look that was hard to translate, but was piercingly intimidating nonetheless.

"What's your problem?" Harry said as inaudibly as he could.

"If you overreact, you'll only fuel his argument."

Harry glared back at Justin. "But he doesn't have an argument. You and me aren't together or anything- how he finds these kinds of things amusing, I'll never know . . . "

Draco said nothing in retort, but simply continued forward with a smug look on his face. As they approached the platform, which was rather small and open due to the size of the local town, he readjusted his scarf. "No, I don't suppose we are, are we."

Harry gave a sideways glance at Draco, who caught his eye after he looked up. Draco frowned. "What?"

Harry averted his attention to the train that was now pulling into the station. A few passengers, perhaps four, got off before the group of eighth years climbed on. "Nothing," he said, grabbing hold of the rail and pulling himself inside.

* * *

Draco was currently invested in a dream involving all the things that could possibly go wrong with his new position in the ministry. It wasn't a particularly wonderful dream, to say the least, and it definitely wasn't the type of dream he wanted to have on Christmas morning. In it, he'd been working for the past three days straight, and no matter how many things he accomplished, there was still a twelve-foot pile of paperwork on his desk that occasionally screamed obscenities at him. He had a photo on his desk, framed, and he couldn't exactly make out the subject, but the longer he slaved away at writing, the clearer it became. It was Pansy Parkinson, throwing daggers at him from out of the frame of the photo, moving quickly and sporadically until she wore herself out. As if that wasn't enough to make him want to regurgitate, the photo changed, and it was again blurry-

- _REFRIDGERATOR FUCKER! _the pile of invoices screamed.

He leaned in closer to the photo, desperately ignoring the papers.

- _BLOODY SPATOON BOLLOCKS!_

It was two people, holding each other in a tight squeeze of a hug.

_- ANGRY COD, YOU ARSE!_

It was Harry and Ginny's wedding photo.

_- FOUL PARROT CHUFFERS! WAKE UP, YOU GIT! _

Draco winced as he opened his eyes. "Goddamn it, Draco, get up! Tonks made breakfast!"

Harry had nudged him and was now walking into the kitchen. Draco sat up, and for a second, was disoriented. This was not his bed. That's right. He was on the couch. The entire eighth-year class that was still in the school had been invited over. On the opposite couch was Lovegood, and the floor, enlarged via charm work, was littered with makeshift beds and sleeping bags for the other eight. Finch-Fletchly was directly underneath him on the floor, also one of the last to awaken. Draco made sure to step on him as he stood up.

The light from the adjacent kitchen was bright, and Draco reluctantly stumbled in. On Lupin and Tonks' radically elongated dining room table, however, there was a sizeable pile of wrapped presents, each bearing a different name on their tags. Tonks piled the last of the pudding on the breakfast plates, and placed them in front of the each of the seats. "C'mon, kids, you like to eat, right? Tuck in already," she said, walking out into the back room for what Draco assumed was a second supply of napkins.

Draco took a seat nearer to the wall, and Harry followed in suit. Though Draco had just woken up, and usually wasn't as, well, alive in the mornings, he propped his head up with his arms and made a jab at Harry anyway. "Don't you ever stop following me, Potter?"

Taking a bite (Tonk's recipes were becoming logarithmically better with time), Harry leaned back in his seat. "Nope."

Draco investigated his toast, and eventually indulged. After chewing it for a few seconds and reaching for his glass of milk, he snuck the comeback in easily and unexpectedly. "I saw you staring at me last night."

Harry nearly dribbled his coffee, but retained his composure. "Alright. You weren't asleep, and it was weird, when everyone else was. Forgive a guy for worrying."

"I'm allowed to be awake when I want to," Draco commented simply, taking another bite.

"Don't tell me you were waiting for sleigh bells on the roof," Harry joked.

"Waiting for _what now?_" Draco asked, his fork dropping slightly.

"Never mind," Harry quickly said, realizing this was largely a muggle fantasy. But Seamus had overheard from his side of the table. "Oy, let'm have a go at the story. I'm sure he could use the coal by now," he said, grinning.

"To stoke the fire for his ego, no doubt," Justin mumbled into his plate. Draco let his utensils clank against his plate as he made a quick motion for his wand, but Harry grabbed his arm first.

"Fuck off, Fletchly," Draco spat, still wriggling in Harry's grip. "Will you let _go_ of me, Potter, I'm not going to do anything."

"Justin, eat your food and open your goddamn presents, will you?" Harry said. Apparently, though, this wasn't going to solve any problems.

"Defending your boyfriend, now, eh Potter?"

This time it was Harry who let his fork drop against the porcelain. Luckily enough, Tonks had just re-entered, and set down a few extra plates in a hurry. "Harry, Draco, I want you two to sit in the parlor. Justin, be a good boy and sod off, will you?" she offered, gaining many amused faces from the guests at the table. She then ushered them from their seats and collected what was left of their breakfast before leading them into the dimly lit parlor. They both took a seat as Tonks lit another lantern. "You realize you can't let your emotions get the better of you, Harry. This isn't a warring state, it's Christmas."

Harry shot Draco a why-the-hell-is-she-blaming-me look, before turning in his seat to face her. "Yeah, but he can't go around saying stuff like that. He'll get himself murdered," he said.

"Or worse," Draco added quietly, not bothering to wipe away the small sadistic smirk on his face.

Tonks gave Draco a wide-eyed sort of reprimand, but kept her focus on Harry. "Just finish up in here, will you? You can go back out when you're done. I'll go fetch your gifts."

She was back in less than a minute with a small pile in her arms. She tossed four packages to Harry and three to Draco (which to him, was an honest surprise) before re-entering the kitchen.

Draco shuffled through his gifts. One was from Pansy. How could he forget about her? She _always_ gave him gifts. It was enough to almost make him feel guilty. He rotated the package at least three times, trying to extract an entrance into her impeccably-wrapped box, before sliding under the paper and ripping it off.

"What's that?" Harry asked, a small hint of amusement in his voice.

"It's a flask," Draco said plainly, as it was hard to hide his embarrassment. He tossed it in Harry's direction. "Have a look. Apparently she decided to have it engraved for me."

"_The Virginity Killer,_" Harry read. "_Love you, Pansy._ Wow, she doesn't hesitate before thinking, does she?" he said.

He sunk in his seat. "No, she never did. And it's not as though I've never been drunk before, _where_ she gets these ideas, I'll never know."

Harry unfolded the newest sweater in his Mrs. Weasely collection and set it on the arm of the seat he was in. "Maybe you've just never been drunk enough," he joked. "Thought you and Pansy would've got _that_ done and over with ages ago, anyway." He tore open another gift that was obviously from Hermione, because it was a book. "Look, I've just got the entire history of Norwegian quidditch in anthology form."

Draco gave a mock scowl, ignoring the book. "Classy humor you've got there, Potter. And no, I, like any reasonable man on the face of this earth, would never have any part of my body come in contact with Parkinson. Merlin forbid I contract rabies."

"I dunno. Pansy's kind of like a guy, right? You're into that now, aren't you?"

Draco tossed a throw pillow at the side of Harry's head, but sunk in his seat, blushing. "Forget about that. I'd rather be happy on Christmas than have to worry about my reputation." The last thing he needed was Potter continuously bringing it up.

"Whatever you say, Draco," Harry said, setting the heavy book aside. "Open the next one, will you?"

Draco gave Harry a suspicious look before picking up a smaller package. It was wrapped in green and silver, and although the colors were fitting of the holiday, he rolled his eyes at the choice. The tag said "From Harry", and Draco looked up at his company. "You weren't supposed to get me something, you know."

"I know," Harry said. "Too late, anyway."

Draco sighed, and began to unwrap the gift (or rather, unroll it, as it was very obviously a spherical package) carefully. He tried to keep his pulse to a minimum, and was happy to note that it didn't seem to be too large or too expensive. He was now holding a small yet heavy globe, the contours of the continents traced into the reflective surface.

"And I certainly didn't ask you to buy me the world, Potter," he joked, turning the object over in his hands. Harry shook his head. "No, but it's a handy paperweight if you know what to do," he said pointing his wand at it and stretching just far enough between the armchairs to give it a tap. Instantly, the globe illuminated, and images of luminescent portraits began to casually float and disappear across its surface.

"See. Gives you a general idea of what people are up to in other places," Harry said. As if on cue, images of the Weasely family flashed across northern Europe and faded, as if being brought up by some unseen oceanic current. "Since you'll be over here for a while, I suppose."

Draco didn't know what to say. He wasn't even expecting Harry to get him anything at all. He certainly forgot to pick something up, at the very least. Christmas simply wasn't something he'd gotten the chance to enjoy in the past three years, so it slipped his mind that _maybe_, Potter was worth a gift. And a whole lot more than that.

"You're ridiculous, Potter."

"Harry. Harry to you if you're Draco to me."

Draco laughed to himself, but shook his head in disbelief. "Fine. Whatever. I just don't know why you put so much thought into this. I'm not that close of a friend."

Harry furrowed an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that you were."

"Oh." Draco looked back at his gift, which momentarily flashed a giggling Narcissa Malfoy. "I mean, yeah, I suppose we're good mates."

Harry smiled, and went back to his gifts. "Something like that."

After watching Harry's present display a few more colorfully illuminated images, he set it down on the coffee table and turned to his last gift. He wasn't sure whether to open it or not, especially after not having communicated with his mother in months, but he ultimately untied the ribbon on a whim.

It was a photo, framed in what looked like an antique, of him at a much younger age. His father was just as stately as ever before, but his face was less receded and his expression didn't seem as pronounced. Narcissa was smiling, leaning down toward her son, and every so often she gave Draco a pat on the shoulder to make him look at the camera. It was at least ten years old.

He didn't mean to, but he sniffed back some moisture. The note was simple, and read _All My Love, _but it was enough to matter to him. Harry looked over and noticed that Draco had tucked his knees up and was sinking into the chair, the frame obscuring his face. "You okay, Draco?" he asked quietly.

Draco moved the frame against his chest in order to see Harry. He was watching him placidly. "Yeah." He wiped away a wet streak with his sleeve, and set the photo down next to Harry's present. "You?" he asked in return, swallowing his sentiment.

Harry looked down at his own newly unwrapped gift and sighed. "Yeah." He held up a leather-bound journal that upon closer inspection appeared to be a photo album. "Ginny's."

"Right."

Harry set it down next to the large collection of candies and chocolates from Lupin and Tonks. He didn't open it.

"Harry."

He looked up at Draco, who was content in remaining in his curled-up position. "Do you think it'll be worth it? Keeping someone out of your life like that?"

Draco had meant it in terms of Ginny, but somehow, he couldn't help but think of his mother.

Harry didn't respond. He stared at his gifts for what seemed like a very long three minutes, before pushing himself up and out of the chair. "Come on," he said, offering a hand to Draco. "Let's go kick Justin's arse."

It was good enough an answer.

* * *

Mincemeat was had, gifts were exchanged, and egg nog was spiked. In the end, it was a nice thing for Lupin and Tonks to do. The eighth years left in sparse groups, two first, then three, then three more. Naturally, Harry was the last to depart, making sure he was able to help clean up and give Teddy his first toy model broomstick (it had to happen sometime, right?) before leaving with ample amounts of leftovers and alcohol. Although he felt as though he could use a drink, he held off. Between these get-togethers and Ron's ever-present stock, he was becoming something of a budding alcoholic. Happy Christmas, from the saviour of the wizarding world and his rotting liver.

Draco was waiting outside on the deck. "You got it all?"

Harry kicked the door to a close and began to descend the shallow steps. A crunch underneath his foot signified that he'd either hit the snowy ground, or had accidentally stepped on vermin. He marched forward, not allowing Draco to grab any of the bags.

"You're a right out berk, you know that?" Draco said, defeated. "Give me something so I don't feel completely useless."

"Oh trust me, there's got to be _something_ you're good for," Harry laughed. "Really, Draco, I've got it."

"Ha-ha, Potter, real funny."

"I'm not going to tell you again, you git, use my first name," Harry said spitefully.

"Excuse me if I'm not used to it. I'm trying to remember that you're a _person_ now." Draco reached for another bag, unsuccessfully.

"God, Draco, for a seeker you're horrible at grabbing," Harry said. "Stop it, will you? You're going to make me drop something."

"Best hang on, Harry, you know what happens when you let go. You've fallen off your broom during gameplay more times than I can count," Draco taunted.

Harry tried to evade him again. "Draco, just for second-"

"- Will you stop trying to be so bloody polite?"

"I'm not being po- Draco, really-"

And, just as he'd thought, he'd managed to drop every bag he was holding in his left hand. Three bottles of wine hit the ground and shattered against the hardened stone pathway, leaking their contents in streams that eroded the snow. Next to that, an entire plateful of turkish delight was scattered out of the bag. Harry stared at the ground, reeling. Neither spoke.

"I'm sorry. Next time I won't be so-

"- There better not be a next time, Draco," Harry said quietly. "I told you to get off."

"Oh, so it's my fault for trying to help? Don't take on so much next time, you idiot!"

"I told you to _get off_. And what do you do?"

"God, Potter, I was only joking around! Why the bloody hell do you have to be such an arse about it?"

Harry averted his gaze to Draco, taking in what he'd just said. It took him a moment to cool down.

"Fine. I'm sorry." And he took out his wand to clean up the mess the best he could before continuing down the path.

Draco jogged to catch up with him. "What the hell's your problem?"

"Nothing."

Draco huffed. "Again with this 'nothing' business of yours! Do you _always_ withhold information from your mates like this, or is it just me?" He took two steps backwards, facing Harry. "If you won't even hold a legitimate conversation with me, Potter, then I'm done. This isn't the type of thing I signed up for."

But as Draco made a motion to turn, Harry grabbed his wrist and flung him back to face him. His insides were racing to keep up with his blood flow. "Fine. You want to know?" he asked, his voice cracking. "_You're_ my problem, Draco." His couldn't control his tone, no matter how hard he tried, and it softened to a plead. It was barely audible, but he forced it out just above a whisper. "You are."

Whatever compulsion drove him to do it, in whatever part of his body, Harry leaned in and met Draco's lips. They were wet, from the accusations and the yelling, but they were heatedly warm, and Harry couldn't help but push against them further. Draco's breathing staggered as his wrist flinched under Harry's grip, but for one brief moment, Harry felt Draco kiss him back, his mouth quivering ever so slightly in surprise as his lips pressed against Harry's.

And then Draco pushed him off. Hard.

He didn't look angry. He looked terrified.

" . . . Harry?" he said, his eyes wide in shock. "What- what did you just-"

"- I don't know. I'm sorry, Draco, I wasn't-"

Harry cut himself off. He didn't know what he wasn't doing. Thinking? He wasn't thinking. He wasn't _breathing_.

He looked at Draco. He could've been looking in a mirror, when it came down to expression. "I'm sorry," he offered again.

Draco's face was a deep shade by now. "No. No, it's . . . I'm fine, are you?"

Harry smiled nervously. "Yeah. I'm not dead or on fire, am I?"

"No," Draco said. The two of them stared at each other with apprehension, before they broke into a mutual shaky laughter that was anything but joyous.

"Now you know. That's 'nothing'. That, and everything else I've been putting up with," Harry said, averting his eyes to the ground. He didn't mean to, and he definitely didn't want to, but he felt a warm saltiness drip down his the tip of his nose. "Happy now?"

Draco watched as Harry scratched the back of his head nervously. He didn't say anything, and kept his eyes low.

"Harry."

He looked up.

"Do you . . . do you mind?" Draco said, using Harry's own words.

Draco alleviated Harry of the other bags that were still in hand and set them on the frozen tarmac.

Carefully, he took a step closer to him, so that they were nearly at eye level (Draco had always been an inch or so taller), and he pushed Harry's moistened glasses to the top of his head, catching a few strands underneath the frames in the action. For the second time, Draco leaned in, and brushed against Harry's lips with a tentative movement, before the other responded. With a sharp intake of air, Harry pressed against Draco in a deep snog that eventually opened both of their mouths as they moved closer. Speech muscle against muscle, they tasted each other for the first time, all while their hands moved into an embrace that tightened with every movement. Harry's head wasn't swimming. It was sinking. _Drowning._

When they'd pulled apart, they looked at each other, face to face, before Harry smiled weakly and leaned over into the nook of Draco's shoulder. And he broke down completely.

Draco would remember this night as the Christmas he'd held Harry up. He hugged him tightly, both realizing that for the first time, things were about to get very complicated.

* * *

A/N: AUGH. I need to finish an animation project by 1 pm tomorrow! No sleep tonight! Again, if no page breaks show up, it ain't me. Blame your siblings. =D Review if you'd like to give me a literary caffeine rush. I'm going to need it for tonight!


	15. Negotiations

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

Draco sat innocently cross-legged on the bed, a book in his lap as he scratched away at a piece of parchment. Opposite him, Harry was trying to concentrate on the same work, but every few moments or so, mostly whenever he'd finished a sentence of his research paper, his vision would flick up towards the blonde and scuttle back down erratically. It didn't help that the subtlest of movements kept catching his eye- and Draco managed to perform an _awful_ lot of subtle movements.

"Work, Potter." It was just condescending enough of a tone to make Harry resist argument. He hadn't been that obvious, had he? What sort of auror would he make if he couldn't even keep himself under-wraps?

Blaise Zabini passed by behind Draco, whose back was facing the rest of the room. Obviously, Zabini wasn't as willing to complete his work ahead of time, even though he _must've_ returned a week early for a reason. When asked, he explained he would rather have skipped the last few days of vacation than stick around in his family's winter home. It'd been snowed-in, anyway- and Harry got a sneaking suspicion this wasn't by accident whenever Zabini mentioned it with a smile.

So here Harry was, awkwardly stuck between doing his work and pretending as though nothing of particular importance had happened while Zabini was away. What really got to him, though, was just how good Draco was at acting. If Harry hadn't known any better, he would've guessed the whole scene on Christmas was all a ridiculous dream- or, more likely, a comatose hallucination.

Or maybe he was drunk. It'd certainly felt like it.

But the weird thing was, Harry didn't feel any different. He plainly didn't contract hives or grow a third eyeball. He didn't feel the need to murder somebody. He definitely didn't have the reoccurring urge to commit sexually carnal acts upon Draco, like Lavender seemed to have done with Ron during _that_ nightmare of a fling. He didn't feel blatantly homosexual in any way at all.

Other than the fact that he was helplessly infatuated with Draco, he felt completely normal.

"I'm going out," Zabini said, interrupting Harry's stream (no, torrent) of thoughts.

"Yeah," Draco mumbled, still staring down at his lap.

Harry watched out of his peripheral vision as Zabini put on a coat and made his way toward the door. Some sort of anticipatory grumble started up in his stomach, and only grew stronger when Zabini doubled back for something he'd forgot. By the time the Slytherin had made it back to the door, Harry was somewhat unexplainably angry at him for not leaving faster. He didn't know why. It wasn't as though anything was going to happen when he left.

The door swung shut with a finality and Harry was left to scribble mindlessly at his parchment.

"You can breathe now, you know." Draco set the book and his paper aside.

Harry cracked a nervous smile as he looked up. "Was it that bad?"

"No, not really. You looked a little purple in the face toward the end, right there, but other than that."

Harry made eye contact with Draco, and they broke into similar laughter. "I haven't got a decent paragraph done. I don't know how you do it."

Draco shrugged casually, something Harry had never really seen him do before. It was strange. He was keeping track of these things now, without even trying.

"For all I know, Blaise here is a Legilimens. If you're obviously not doing your part in keeping your nerves down, _one_ of us has to."

Harry gave an audible sigh as he flopped back against the headboard. "I can't help it. It's kind of a big deal to me."

"Oh, trust me, it's a huge deal. It's an unimaginably _enormous_ deal. I, however, choose not to overthink the unimaginably enormous deals in favor of keeping my sanity," Draco explained, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "You, on the other hand, seem to have always had a problem with that," he added, but it was accompanied with a small bastard of a smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, the Golden Boy thing, I got you, Draco."

"But," Draco said, standing up to stretch, "Admittedly, I have to envy that about you. I was never allowed to dwell on my problems. Surely I would've been akin to Moaning Myrtle by now if I had."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, imagine that. A depressing Malfoy," he said sarcastically.

"Piss off," Draco retorted.

Harry watched as Draco moved across the room and adjusted the curtains. A bit more light streamed in, making it much easier to see his parchment, and, unfortunately, much easier to focus on Draco. _For Merlin's sake_, Harry cursed to himself, _he's not a kaleidoscope!_

"So, then, while we're on that topic," Draco said much more seriously, taking a seat again, only this time on his own bed, "What do you suggest we do about this . . . _situation_?"

Harry stretched out on his own bed and closed his eyes. "I don't know, Draco."

This didn't seem to be the appropriate answer that Draco was fishing for, because he didn't say anything right away. Harry opened his eyes again and noticed that the blonde was leaning back against his outstretched arms, apparently confused.

"Well, I mean- by now there's some sort of agreement that we've developed a ridiculous and possibly immoral-" he looked pained as he searched for the correct word- "_attraction_ for one another, right?"

Harry stared at the ceiling. "I don't- yeah, I guess, but . . . "

"But what? According to your actions, Potter, you've expressed very clearly that you're just as 'bent' as I am, to use your own word."

"I know."

Draco sat forward in a rush. "So what's the problem Potter? I'm gay, you're gay, let the whole world throw us a goddamn festival!" He looked strained. "Please, Harry," he said, much more quietly.

Harry's blood fluttered a little at the tone of Draco's voice. But, as much as he wanted to do something about it, to have Draco as closeby as he was a minute before, he could only sit back up and stay put. "That's the thing. I don't know if I am."

Draco's face went from concerned to a flat and stern look of degradation. "We snogged. I'm not sure if you remember that, Potter."

Harry rubbed his eyes before leaning into his bent knees. "Yeah, I know- I mean, I've never been like this toward any other guy." He tried to think back. There really wasn't an attraction to men. There was simply an aversion to girls. "So I guess it's just you, Draco."

From across the room, Draco lessened his defense a bit. "Oh." Harry didn't know what to make of his expression, except for a tinge of pink rising on Draco's neck, and a slight nod.

"I mean, really, it doesn't matter that much. It isn't as though we're going to saddle up and start dating anytime soon," Draco talked to the ground. "Between having to deal with everyone's reactions and the amount of shit the press will rack up, it's silly. We're nothing more than friends."

"Right."

"Just friends."

Harry didn't notice they were staring at each other until they'd already been doing it for nearly ten seconds. Something inside of him argued with his mouth, and told him to disagree with what he'd just said, but he couldn't manage to make his mouth work at all by now.

Draco's expression was abject.

And then, looking at him, Harry had to do it. He had to ask.

"Draco," he started unevenly. "W-"

Zabini cut him off as he knocked through the doorway, kicking in extra luggage that he'd apparently just collected. For a moment, there was complete silence as all three gaped at each other, before Zabini gave one final kick to his suitcase. "Did I intrude upon something?"

Draco snapped back into his usual characteristic and blasedly stood up. "No, but you definitely don't know how to enter a room," he commented stiffly as he sat down again at his desk.

"Extra baggage, from home," Zabini continued, ignoring Draco in what must have been a routine reaction. "Mum sent some rum balls, if you'd like," he said to Draco specifically.

They began to converse, leaving Harry (thankfully) out of it. He glanced at Draco. He was already back to his usual self.

Unfortunately for Harry, he still had the rest of his words ready on the tip of his tongue. Had Zabini not fully plowed into the room, he would've just asked Draco out.

For real, this time.

* * *

"I really wish you'd gone, Harry, everyone misses you back home," Hermione said before taking a long sip of tea. "Even Ron. He's cooled off a lot."

"Towards you, maybe," Harry said.

"No, really. He seems happy working with Arthur. Even his department at the Ministry seems to approve."

Harry stuffed the final corner of his toast into his mouth before answering. "So he's working there after all, then? I wasn't sure if he was covering up for the fact that he didn't want to be here in the first place."

"That may have been true," Hermione said with a tiny sigh. "I did kind of force him here, didn't I? But I just couldn't imagine going a year without having him around."

Harry smiled weakly. "It's definitely weird. I've been having to use Malfoy as a fill-in," he joked, before realizing that this wasn't a joke that was widely accepted as being funny. After noticing the look on Hermione's face (which was something of a mixed pity and ridicule), he tried to explain. "Not that Malfoy is a replacement. I'm ready to kill that git half of the time."

"And the other half?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.

Harry laughed, trying to pass off her question. She obviously didn't take it as an answer.

"Please tell me you haven't _already_ killed him. I was so glad to see you two acting cordially for the first time in- well, for the first time, period. _This_ is the kind of cooperation the Ministry has been pushing for."

Oh, they'd been _cooperating_.

"No, we've managed to get along," was all Harry said.

"Good. Hopefully one of these days, you both might be tame enough to have a normal conversation," she said, smiling. "Imagine that. Talking to you and Malfoy at the same time. I'll just have to pretend I don't still hate him for nearly managing to get us all murdered at the hands of his family's _friends_."

Harry tried not to cringe. It was a very off-putting thought. He realized that this was definitely a part of all of their pasts, yet when it came to Draco, he couldn't seem to blame him for it. Yes, he made horrible choices, but after hearing him talk about it . . . maybe, just maybe, he didn't mean for it to get that out of hand. Maybe, Draco wasn't that bad of a person back then either.

He wasn't now.

"It could happen," Harry replied simply. He didn't want to allude to his and Draco's relationship if he could avoid it. Whether it was the fact that they'd managed to become friends, or the fact that they were a little bit off their rockers, he didn't want it leaked.

He wasn't nearly as concerned with his reputation as Draco was, of course. The Slytherin had a _lot_ more damage control to take care of at the moment, so it definitely wasn't a good time for them to show any sort of _companionship_. Maybe Harry wanted to help Draco out, in that right. He wouldn't tell, in order to protect his name.

But what Harry really couldn't shake the feeling of was the fact that he was more afraid of losing Ron and Hermione if he said anything. He wasn't supposed to be friends with Draco, let alone make out with him. Not to mention Ginny. She'd never forgive him. He could potentially lose the entire Weasely family. And he wasn't ready for that.

"Well, when you manage to make peace with the enemy, feel free to update me," she said, magically emptying more sugar into her cup via charming the dish. "After all, if I could make up with Ron, the impossible is plausible and pigs are already flying out on the streets."

Harry suppressed a laugh, but not at what she'd said. Looking down at the table, the dishes she'd tapped with her wand were now overflowing her tea cup with ample amounts of sugar and cream. "Oh, for Merlin's sake!"

After all, what was more impossible than magic?

* * *

Draco leaned back in his seat as he questioned Harry doubtfully. "So you got him an owl."

Harry commanded his rook to move. "Yes, I got him an owl."

"A bloody _owl_, Harry." Draco looked amused.

"What's so bad about that?"

"He's what, hardly a year old? He's not going to need an owl for years!"

Harry smirked. "On the contrary, I got an owl from him yesterday." He reached away from the chess table and pulled an envelope out of his school bag. "Go ahead, open it," he said, tossing it in Draco's direction.

Draco eyed him carefully before slipping the contents out of the envelope. Unfolding the paper, he set it down on the table and stared. And then his eyebrows rose simultaneously with the edges of his smile.

"Well. Proved me wrong, Potter. This is one of the most sophisticated letters I've ever seen from an infant," he said, jokingly holding up the paper. It was scrawled with faint colored lines, all intelligible scribbles, with a much more readable line at the bottom handwritten by Tonks: _Love, Teddy._

"And it was delivered by _his_ owl. Case closed, Malfoy."

Draco handed the letter back to Harry as he easily took out one of the Gryffindor's pawns. "Don't be surprised if it's dead by the time he's old enough for Hogwarts."

Harry smiled, but was a little unexpectedly hurt by the comment. He didn't want to think about dead owls. He missed Hedwig.

"Did I say something wrong?" Draco asked, noticing Harry's disappointed reaction.

Harry quickly shook his head. "No. It's not important, really."

Draco instructed his bishop. "Suddenly, everything's a lot more important than it used to be. Please, tell me if I was out of line."

Harry shrugged. "It's nothing. It just reminded me of my owl."

"What about it?"

"She's dead." Harry said it plainly, but there was still a dull ache. He told himself it was stupid to dwell on it, but Hedwig was always his only companion during his time away from Hogwarts.

Draco collected one of Harry's pieces before it could be smashed via chess-battle. "Owls die."

Somehow, Harry didn't have the heart to argue that it was a Death Eater that had killed her. He wanted to change the subject. He didn't want to think about it, of course, but at the same time, he didn't want to offend Draco.

_Didn't want to offend Draco._ Oh, how his twelve year-old self was reeling.

"Hermione asked about you today."

Draco raised an eyebrow, but didn't look surprised. "Did she. What sort of stunning thing did she have to say about me this time?"

"She wants us to be friends," he said.

This time, Draco looked genuinely surprised, and furrowed his forehead in quiet confusion. "Well then. I guess we've already got that down."

"Yeah."

"That's what we agreed to, after all," he said. "Your turn."

Harry took out one of Draco's knights.

They were friends. There was no doubting that. And whether it came from their contractual decision a month or two back, or from natural causes, Harry didn't know. Somehow, though, he enjoyed having Draco around, and he enjoyed being able to pass the time with him.

He enjoyed kissing him, however disorienting it may have been.

"Draco, where do you want to go from here?"

The blonde leaned back in his seat again. "If I told you that, it wouldn't be chess, you cheat."

"No," Harry said. "I mean . . . you and me. Where do you want to go with this."

Draco didn't watch as his queen took out one of Harry's pieces in a violent display of smashing. He was focused on Harry. "I think a better question is 'where _can_ we go with this?' We're not exactly acting on normal accords as of late, Harry."

Harry took in what Draco was saying as he imagined a very disgusted Justin Finch-Fletchley whooping at them holding hands. Still, this only pushed him further into defiance.

"I've never acted on normal accords. You of all people know that, Draco."

Draco huffed. "Yes, I'm very well aware of that. But that doesn't mean we can go around acting like idiots— this is clearly something we've got to think about, Harry-— and I'm personally not ready to give up everything I've been working towards all for a stupid cru—"

But Harry didn't let him finish. He'd leaned across the chess table and caught Draco's lips in mid-sentence. After a moment, Draco conceded fervorishly, but it wasn't until they'd briefly pulled apart that he breathlessly worked in "you're a git!" before they continued.

Draco surprisingly pulled Harry in closer, causing a few of the chess pieces to roll off the playing area and grumble in annoyance, but they were hardly audible over the movement that was progressing. Harry's hand found its way to the side of Draco's face and moved backwards against his hair, finally taking in its texture and crumpling it. They'd both stood up, and Harry managed to unintentionally shove Draco backwards into the bookshelf behind them as they stumbled off-balance. They ended up pressed against one another, legs bent and shoes tangled around furniture, moving harder and quicker until Harry felt something simultaneously in his chest and in his groin-

Draco turned sideways. "Hold on," he said, and pulling out his wand, locked the door. He then slipped it back into his pocket, but in its absence, Harry realized that it had not been Draco's wand that he'd been feeling.

* * *

Dinner, at least on the winter schedule, was served around seven o'clock. It was already seven fifteen by the time Harry and Draco made their way down the main staircase, but as they were nearing the bottom they figured it would be best not to be seen by the others. For Harry not to be with Hermione was bad enough, but to have Draco accompany _anyone_ but his housemates was out of the question. So, after a quick squabble on the landing (_"You go first!" "The hell I am!"_) Draco was shoved ahead of Harry and they separated. As soon as Draco was out of sight, Harry began to descend the remainder of the steps as well. His mind was well sedated, though his pulse was still on the high, as he couldn't get the images out of his mind. They hadn't done much, but what they did do gave him a greater rush of adrenaline than anything he'd done with Ginny.

He didn't know what to think anymore. He wasn't even going to attempt to label it. But he knew for sure he was spiraling deeper into non-answers, and despite the need to resurface, he didn't want to find a way out.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and made a left towards the dining hall. As the holidays were drawing to a close, he noticed the house elves that were employed at the school had begun to make increasingly appetizing meals, the smell of which was wafting into the corridors just outside. The closer he got, the more his stomach pleaded for sustenance, and his body wanted to sit down and relax all the more after everything that had just happened.

Harry made a final left, and began for the doors, but for some reason, Draco was still standing in the threshold, apparently shocked. He was looking inside, but seeing Harry out of the corner of his eye, made a mechanized move into the dining hall. What his problem was, Harry had no clue, but it wasn't until he made his way into the great frames of the doors that he saw what Draco was staring at.

"Harry!"

A flash of red caught him in a bout of motion, causing him to step backwards to keep his balance as she hugged him. Harry stared straight ahead, dumbstruck, as his arms eventually rose around Ginny to return the embrace.

"I haven't seen you in ages!" she said, falling back into a standing position. "How's everything going with Lupin, have you—" she paused, "—Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Harry gaped. "You too— nothing, I'm fine, I'm just— what are you _doing_ here?" he asked, adding a smile the best he could as an afterthought. He was hardly able to finish any of his sentences as it was.

"I told you, I wanted to see you around New Year's, right? Unless you didn't get it, which is fine, I suspected it might've happened since I didn't get a reply— I should stop using Errol," she said in a flurry.

"No, I . . . I got it," Harry said, his mind trying to keep up.

"Don't worry about it," she said, smiling to herself. "I'm just happy to see you!"

Harry watched over her shoulder as Draco took a seat next to Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson. The Slytherin watched him intently, emotionless, as though nothing had happened between them at all. No, it could've been the same old Malfoy from Hogwarts, uncaring and cold-eyed, cutting listlessly into his roast.

"I'm happy to see you too, Ginny."

* * *

A/N: I never intend to split these things up into exactly 3-ish sections, but they usually come out that way. Also, I'm sorry if I keep sneaking innuendos in everywhere, that's simply how my mind seems to function, lol. PAGE BREAKS DO YUR THANG.


	16. Resolutions

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

Pansy's dark bob fell onto Draco's shoulder as he buttered his dinner roll. He normally wouldn't have appreciated her disregard for personal space, but he didn't blame her for trying to get a look at the scene in the dining hall. Across from them, at what was now deemed the everything-but-Slytherin table, Harry and his supposed "ex-girlfriend" were sharing a meal, both surrounded by a jovial lot of friends. Though not every student had returned from the holiday break yet, most had gotten their fill of family time and were ready to get the remainder of training over with. Draco was certainly ready to get this _dinner _over with.

"When did she show up?" Pansy asked, craning her neck to get a good view of the redhead. "Isn't there some sort of rule against people 'visiting'?"

"According to Finnigan, this afternoon," Daphne answered, leaning into her soup. After receiving elicited looks of disapproval for fraternizing with someone like Seamus Finnigan, she dropped her spoon. "What? I listen."

"I hope that's all you do," Pansy said off-handedly. She picked up her fork. "You're staring, Draco."

"As if you weren't," he calmly replied back. "It's not my fault she's so distracting."

And, yes, looking across to the opposite table, Ginny Weasley was indeed holding a riveting conversation with each of her previous housemates. Though she herself wasn't obnoxiously loud, the result of her presence had caused something of an excited uproar, and the dining hall was much more lively because of it. It was almost as if they were at Hogwarts, in the Great Hall, eating a holiday meal and enjoying the bounty of friendship and good company.

It was enough to make Draco sick.

"You got my present?" Pansy said, nudging him in the side sharply.

Draco gave a quick glare at her for the jab, but then reinvested himself in his plate. "Yeah. Way to keep it classy, Pans. You're lucky I didn't open it in front of the majority of the student body."

"The majority? So, who's the minority?"

Draco kept his eyes down as he silently sliced into another piece of meat.

"You're kidding, really?" Pansy said, realizing what his lack of answer meant as she broke into a grin.

"Sod it," Draco frowned.

"Oh my god, that's almost too much! Potter saw it?"

"I never _said—_"

Pansy laughed. "No, you didn't say _anything_, but you definitely proved me right."

Draco parted his mouth to talk back, but his eyes flicked up and caught Harry and Ginny again.

So what if he'd proved Pansy right. Was there any reason for him to care? Looking across the room, he saw something in Harry that he couldn't explain. Ginny was laughing along with Anthony Goldstein about something or other, and the huddle of Gryffindors all seemed to be righteously downing their goblets, but Harry wasn't concentrating on any of it. He looked uncomfortable.

Under the table, Pansy rested her hand on his thigh. "Draco? You hear what I said?" she asked, but it wasn't in her usual tone. He turned his head, and saw something new in her, too. She looked concerned.

"Yeah," he said, placing his silverware on his plate. "I think I'm full. I'm going to go back up to the dormitories."

"A— alright, but . . ."

"We can put your present to good use tonight, if you want to go out," Draco commented as he stood up.

"That's what I like to hear, Draco."

If he promised her a night of alcoholism and excitement, she usually judged him as being okay. Of course, this was hardly correct; he only drank when the time called for it. And this was definitely one of those times.

He exited the hall the best he could without being too obvious. He wasn't going to make it plainly visible to Harry or to anyone else that he didn't need to watch the Weasleyette hang all over her Boy Who Lived. She wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't even supposed to _be_ with him. Hadn't he said he was going to break up with her? Draco continued up the staircase, his brain's synapses firing at will. True, he was the son of a Death Eater. True, he was a Slytherin, in blood and in brotherhood. But if there was one thing Draco Malfoy was not, it was a cheat. And more over, he was not an _experiment_.

If Harry hadn't broke things off with Ginny, then what did that mean? Did he still have feelings for her? Draco smiled in spite of himself. Of course he did. Whether they were romantic or not, they were still _there_.

He made his way up the second flight. _Why_ they had to be on the sixth floor was ridiculous. It was almost enough to make him miss the luxury of always walking _down_, to the dungeon commonroom under the lake.

So, then, he figured, if Harry was still concerned about Ginny, then what was up with everything that had happened that afternoon? It didn't make any sense. Unless, of course, it was all a ploy for attention. It was always that way in school, at least. Part of Draco scolded himself for thinking of Harry like that, especially after getting to know him, but he couldn't help it. Unhealthy and unsupported opinions flowed out of him like spilled wine, staining the image of Harry that he'd come to know and trust. Harry obviously hadn't been communicating enough with one of them. No, he'd been too busy snogging Draco to do that.

Draco exhaled in a heavy breath. He didn't want this. He wasn't allowed to want this. He could deal with being Harry's friend— that was working out just swimmingly. But somewhere along the line, he'd acted on too strong of a whim, and pulled Harry in closer than he should've. Was it his fault? Did he cause all of this? Thinking back, he was the one who'd asked Harry for repentance. He was the one who wanted to be friends. He was the one to make the first move.

And now, in the midst of the very best of it, he'd managed to become a wedge in the door jamb. Slowly, he'd become closer with Harry than he ever could've imagined, all for Harry to neglect to tell him he was still attached . . . then again, Draco never intended to feel this way about anyone, let alone the boy he'd outwardly hated for seven years. No, now that he thought about it, Draco wasn't a homewrecker at all. He wasn't even seeing Harry. He didn't even deserve the title of "the other . . . man".

It simply didn't exist. Between Draco and Harry, nothing like that existed.

Draco coughed out a laugh. And when it disappeared, he shut his eyes, hard, trying to keep them dry.

For the first time in Draco's life, he wanted to talk to Pansy.

* * *

"Do you still want to go out?"

Draco nodded as he attempted to fix a piece of his hair that wasn't cooperating. "Yeah."

"I might be able to swing us a few more free drinks. Depends on who's working tonight," she said, joking at her own low-cut top. Draco knew better. She didn't get to dress that way very often. Not with her parents' set of values.

"Yeah."

She was situated on the edge of his bed. They were thankfully alone in the room.

"Draco, I hate to say it, but you're agreeing with me," she said.

He turned to face her, though his attention was still at the vanity. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Quite frankly, yes. Normally you can't stand having me around," she said quietly.

Draco focused on her this time. "What? Why would you say something like that? We've been friends for years, Pans."

She repositioned her bottom lip so that it jutted out sideways. "Because we have to, right?"

"No, because we— god, Pansy, where'd you get that idea?" Though, admittedly, it wasn't far from the truth.

She smiled. "You and me are a lot alike, I guess. We don't have friends, Draco, we have networks. It's always been business."

He stepped away from the vanity, realizing that his fixation on his appearance wasn't going to make the situation any better. He'd just been so desperate for something to focus on.

"I've got friends. I've got loads of friends."

"Name one."

Draco stared at her in contempt before preparing a mental list. "Well, there's you, right? And there's Blaise—"

"— You're not friends with Blaise."

Draco faltered as she interrupted. "Regardless of whether I'm friends with him or not, we're still housemates," he said sharply.

Pansy uncrossed her arms and set them on the edge of the bed. "See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. We don't have friends. We have housemates and classmates and arranged family acquaintances. There isn't any friendship there."

Draco's mind flicked to a particular Gryffindor. Was Harry just a classmate?

"What's your point, Pansy?"

She looked at him, her small features and huge eyes much more appealing when they weren't filled with a learned hatred. "My point, Draco, is that I'm worried about you. You've never had a friend before, not a real friend at least, and being with Potter is leaving you vulnerable."

"Potter? What's he got to do with this?" His mind was cursing at himself. He didn't want to make the Potter thing obvious.

She smiled. "I never called you a liar when you said you have friends. But you've only got one. For real, at least."

"Are you saying—"

"— I'm not saying anything, Draco. All I know is that for once, you seem genuinely interested in someone. You know, as a person. Not for what they have to offer, not for their wealth, and certainly not because they'd make you look any better on paper," she said with a small giggle. It faded into something Draco didn't know what to call. Her eyes were watching him. "I want you to stay friends."

He stared at her, trying to gauge whether or not she was ridiculing him or congratulating him, but eventually, he gave in and sat down next to her. He held his head up in his lap. "I don't know how much longer it's going to stay that way, Pans." Whether it was because they were rapidly moving into another relationship category entirely, or because Draco didn't know what to make of Harry leading him on, they weren't going to stay friends. That was for sure.

"Is it because of Weasley? She did make an awfully grand entrance, didn't she?"

"Yeah, she did . . . and no, I don't— it's not because of Ginny," he said. Well, no, she definitely was a huge part of it. "I guess what I mean is Potter and I have a very . . . _skewed_ sense of the word 'friend'," he added.

She leaned back against her arms. "I know. You don't cover your tracks too well, Draco. At least not around me," she joked. "But you've made it very clear that you're close to him."

As much as Draco wanted to throw a negative answer at her, something inside of him wanted to force the truth out of him. He knew he shouldn't. Pansy was practically the end of all secrets. One slip, and she could spread rumors like wildfire.

Only in Draco's case, the rumors would be true.

He knew this. But he answered.

"I am, Pansy."

She didn't laugh, and she didn't condescend him. She simply sat next to him in a quiet contentness, staring at the carpet in the same pensive state.

"Do you want to be closer?" It was a simple question.

He thought about it. Harry, for whatever reason, meant a hefty lot to him. He wasn't jealous, exactly. But would he be okay with Ginny around? Was it really worth it?

To have a relationship with Harry would be suicide. But it was a death that Draco wanted more than he could understand.

"I don't know."

She didn't comment. Instead, she left him to his own murderous mind.

And then, after a long and painful stretch of time, she said something.

"Thank you." If it hadn't stunned him out of his train of thought, Draco might've missed her comment entirely.

"For what?"

She straightened up, and looked at him. "Letting me know."

He squinted, not sure what to make of it at first, but somehow he knew she meant it. He put an arm around her and pulled her into a hug.

"No problem, Pansy."

They stayed leveled against each other for a moment, before she pulled away. "You know, I think that was the first conversation we've ever had that didn't result in an argument," she joked, smiling softly.

"We must not be friends anymore," he grinned.

"Makes sense to me."

* * *

Harry led the way back to his dormitory, Ginny following casually at his side. Though he was still surprised to have her here, it wasn't the worst thing in the world. Aside from the fact that he was repressing a hernia to hide that he'd had a few physical encounters with Draco fucking Malfoy, having her around wasn't that bad. She looked at him a lot, though. He couldn't blame her. It'd been nearly five months since they'd seen each other.

Still, thoughts of the events leading up to her arrival were stuck on replay in Harry's mind. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He'd seen Draco's reaction in the dining room— or lack thereof. He'd watched as he left. Though Harry hadn't spoken to Draco since the afternoon, he knew something had gone horribly awry with Ginny's arrival.

"This isn't that bad of a school. It's nice here," she said. There had been a lot of "she said's" on their way up the stairs. Harry was having a hard time keeping track of them all.

"Yeah. It's alright."

They'd been like this for the past hour. Conversations would be started, but would die quickly. A part of Harry was disappointed. If he couldn't even crack a joke to Ginny, what was wrong?

"Nice lighting. Do the staircases move much?"

"Not that I know of. It's not as old as Hogwarts."

She hummed in response. He couldn't help it. He was trying to be polite, and trying to have fun. He was with Ginny! His girlfriend! What the bloody fuck was making this painful?

"Harry?" she asked, once they'd made it to the sixth floor landing. "Are you okay? I mean, really okay, not just 'I'm-Fine' okay."

"What do you mean?"

She pocketed her hands. "I've known you long enough to tell the difference. When it wasn't Voldemort, it was something else. You'd always pretend everything was great."

He glanced at her. "Pretend everything was great? Ginny, I was screaming to Fudge about Death Eaters for years."

She rolled her eyes. "No, Harry, I mean with _you_. You always pretended _you_ were okay. You never wanted us to know the difference," she explained. "Which, mind you, I happen to know."

He sighed. He really didn't need her proving him wrong. Not right now.

"Well, for once, I think I'm fine, Ginny."

"If you say so."

He didn't know why that comment annoyed him so much.

* * *

Draco made sure to lock the room before leaving it, and then started down the hallway with Pansy. He felt strangely enlightened, but wasn't in any mood to analyze it. Not before his third shot, at least. They kept up a somewhat quick pace, as they wanted to find relief in the form of fermented liquor as quickly as possible, but he was in something of a giddy state. Somehow, admitting horrible things to a horrible person wasn't such a horrible idea.

And then things went from horrible to absolutely peachy.

Harry and Ginny, loosely holding hands, were making their way towards the dormitory in the opposite direction. Draco didn't mean for it to happen, but he and Harry accidentally locked in their eye contact, and his insides squeezed up. Harry looked less than thrilled.

"Malfoy," he nodded in acknowledgement.

"I won't be back tonight," Draco said flatly. He'd said it to Harry, but his focus was on Ginny. She was watching him back.

"Right, then." Harry said it in a tone that Draco didn't recognize.

Pansy ushered Draco to move. He'd have to remember to thank her later.

As they passed by Harry and Ginny, Draco felt a sharp pang in his side. But it wasn't until they were nearly at the end of the corridor that he said something.

"Happy New Year, Potter."

* * *

Harry shot Draco a look over his shoulder, but the Slytherins had already descended the stairs. Draco wouldn't be back tonight.

"Was that a greeting? I wasn't aware Malfoy was capable of making _greetings_," Ginny smiled.

Harry did not.

"Alright, Harry, spill. What's wrong?"

He looked at her, and though something in his system was telling him to do it now, to cut the tie, he could only stare. And he calmed himself. There was no reason to get angry at Ginny. There was no blame on her part. It was not her fault he was at war with his own mind.

"Nothing. Sorry. I'm just a little out of it, I guess."

He expected her to roll her eyes, or call him weak. But then again, when had she ever done that?

That wasn't her. That was Draco.

Instead, she gave a small smile, and let go of his hand. "It's okay. You weren't expecting me to be here, so I can understand if I disrupted your routine or something."

He unlocked the door to their dormitory. "No, don't worry about it. I'm surprised, yes, but happy nonetheless. I would've had to wait another four months to see you." It was a very brave sentence for him to finish.

"My thoughts exactly," she said, stepping inside. "But on New Year's, nonetheless."

"Why not on New Year's?" he continued in the best way he could.

Ginny sprung herself onto Harry's bed. "Well, I guess it does give us a chance to make some resolutions together, right?"

Harry watched. "Yeah. We can make those."

But no matter how much he wanted to dedicate his goals towards repairing his relationship with Ginny, there was only one resolution he had in mind.

He needed to set things straight.

* * *

Pansy was pulling Draco by the hand towards towards the pub, making sure to duck as an owl fluttered overhead at a low altitude. If there wasn't one thing that reminded Draco of Harry, it had to be a goddamn owl.

"Alright. First round's on me. Well, on Paul in there, _for_ me," she grinned. Draco didn't reply.

Pansy held the door open for him, and looked back. "You coming in?"

Draco shifted to take the door from her. "Yeah," he said. But he'd only managed to take a step before the belltower from the centre of the small wizarding town they were in began to chime.

"Oh, hey, it's midnight. Happy New Year, then, Draco."

"You too, Pans."

He held the door open for only a moment longer, to hear the final twelfth chime, before stepping into the pub. She looked back at him casually. "You got any resolutions?"

He thought about it. He thought about Harry. He tried to delete Ginny, but he thought about her too.

"No," he answered.

Draco was often an excellent liar.

He had a resolution. In fact, he had many resolutions, but one stood out from the rest.

He needed to set things straight.

* * *

A/N: They're shrinking! Noooo my word counts XD I seem to have found a niche pattern for writing/uploading, and it's definitely a Monday/Tuesday night thing. Mostly due to classes. Time to take my week-long FF break!


	17. Necessary Attempts

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

And as soon as he'd made up his mind, she'd torn it all back down.

"Harry."

It was soft, as dim and curtained as the dormitory room they were in, barely spoken above a whisper. Ginny clambered to sit up on Harry's lap, not in the usual playful way she ordained her movements, but in a much smoother action. She locked her arms around his neck as she leaned in against his collarbone. Harry couldn't help but notice she smelled like the Burrow. Not in a bad way, of course. She just smelled like . . . well, home.

But Harry didn't look at her. Though she gave off every visceral memory of "home", and though her clothes and her hair and her face and her smile were reminiscent of "home", the sad truth was that Ginny herself was not as comforting as the cradle of all things Weasley. She stirred a rather awkward feeling in him, actually, and he felt a little upset with himself for not trying harder to relax. He didn't know why he'd agreed to this . . . oh, well, okay, he didn't. He didn't agree to anything. But she'd already pulled him in, and the doors were already locked, and midnight had already come and passed. She wanted no apologies and no excuses, and Harry finally realized what Hermione had meant when she said Ginny was "ready for more than snogging".

She pushed him backward against the bed, her long scarlet flanks of hair falling around her face. She was pretty, after all— certainly no Cho Chang, but she was pretty. He couldn't deny that. In the end, as he watched her, he knew that somewhere inside of his indigestive gut, he still loved her. And, yes, perhaps it was a romantic love. Maybe it was the absence that had made him lose his mind. Maybe, without Ginny around, he'd thought he'd lost interest.

She brushed against his lips, her hands trailing his midsection. He closed his eyes. Yes, he still loved Ginny, he'd decided. He could decide to love her, right? In the end, that's all it was. A decision. He could choose her over Draco. Everything would make more sense.

His mind shot back to the moment before, when Draco and Pansy had left for town. When he'd watched Draco with a scrutiny he couldn't manage anywhere else.

Harry felt a tightness in his pants as his blood began to pump southward. It was from Ginny. _It was from Ginny. _

He had to keep telling himself that.

She moved her hands up and under his jumper, the slight coldness making him reel, but he forced himself to stay still as she pulled the garment off. Harry watched with trepidation as yet another Weasley-knit sweater fell to the ground.

"You look tense," she said, letting her hands come to a rest atop his stomach.

"No," he shrugged.

She eyed him with what Harry assumed was suspicion, but she leaned back down over him again. "Good."

She moved toward his belt buckle. By now, he'd figured that he should at least be participating, to enjoy it more or something like that. He knew that something was off. He wasn't attracted to her, not fully. He tried unbuttoning the front of her blouse, which fell to her elbows with ease. He felt a tinge, somewhere in his body. So that was good.

But it wasn't the _right_ kind of tinge. It was almost uncomfortable. He wasn't trying hard enough. He sat up, leaning forward to meet the inside of her neck, and he allowed himself to scour the surface with an open mouth, occasionally biting down in intensity. Falsified intensity. Ginny didn't seem to tell the difference, however, and she occasionally let out small breathless gasps. Her hands deftly grabbed his, and pulled them around to the back of her bra, which must've meant she wanted it o_ff_, but Harry wasn't particularly skilled in that sort of thing. He could catch a snitch one-handed, in the middle of a rained out stadium-sized pitch without his bloody _glasses_ on, but he couldn't undo the hooks on the backside of her undergarments.

She giggled in that weird, quiet-Ginny way. He was strangely reminded of the period when she would watch him from around corners, or from the breakfast table, or through door cracks . . . it was hopelessly cute, but now that they were doing _things_, it was a little off.

She slid the piece off, and exposed, she let it fall to the ground. Harry took her in his hands, and she was surprisingly ample in volume. She'd never been large-chested before. Not that he'd known, at least. Was he just failing to pay attention?

But before he could go any further (whatever "further" was, at this point), he felt the curl of her hands meet his half-flacid bulge through the fabric of his trousers. She was doing all the right things, in what usually would have been the right order, but even a squeeze as good as hers couldn't seem to do much. He willed himself to do something, _pleaded_ with himself to do something, anything, to make this work. For her.

For Ginny.

So he did. He did everything his mind would consider mutiny, and he took it with a grain of salt that was way too unnecessary for a time like this. He thought of anything that would help him. Anything that could further his time with Ginny. They'd waited far too long to get around to this.

He only wished it could've been anyone other than Draco that he thought about.

They'd accomplished quite a lot this way. They didn't get around to the doing the "hot and heavy" burden of relationships just yet, but it all seemed to satisfy Ginny nonetheless. She wasn't a whore. Not by a long shot. Harry had always made sure he'd respected her, and simply because she wanted more out of him didn't make her promiscuous. Harry knew this. He owed her. She'd been there during the war, she'd waited him out for months. For _years_. He owed her one night of a relationship.

If there was a song playing, Harry thought, surely it would not have been a love song.

His mind strayed as Ginny's mouth did the same. He thought of chess. And _coquilles de saint jacques, _which he could pronounce now . . . well, okay, almost. And as soon as that was gone from his memory, there was a taxi, and a letter, and a handshake. Was this _so_ bad that he couldn't even turn to erotic thoughts? For god's sake, he was being _sentimental_. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't bring up a good image of Malfoy sucking his cock if the world depended on it. Ginny was too . . . _here._ In the way. Blowing it all to dusty fragments of attempted sexual promises.

She moved her face down. All the way down.

"Ginny . . . "

And she looked up. Harry tried not to look too disgusted.

"What?" she asked quickly. "Too much?"

Harry made a noise as he breathed in. "I . . . yeah. No," he said, eliciting a very confused look from his girlfriend. "Just don't."

She hesitated, making eye contact. " . . . Okay." And she moved her hands away. "What do you want me to do?"

Harry sat up, feeling strange that his nude bottom half was openly facing Ginny during conversation. He didn't know what to say. Or, at least, he knew exactly what to say, but not how to phrase it. No matter what, it was going to come out the wrong way.

_At least it'd "come out", _Harry's conscience chided. He mentally punched himself for that comment.

"Nothing. Don't do anything."

"Nothing at all?" Ginny asked, leaning back.

"No," Harry said, trying to choke back whatever was in his throat.

Ginny watched him, a dull look in her eyes. Her disappointment made her look older. "Is it me?"

Of course it was her.

"No, Ginny. It's just . . . me, I guess," he offered. He tried to make it sound as sincere as he could. He couldn't let her down. "I've just been pretty tired lately," he said in another fabrication. She wasn't catching on to them. How could she miss his lies? She _always_ knew when something was up.

"Oh . . . all right. If you want to lay down, then?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay."

Harry took the opportunity to zip up his jeans, and Ginny returned to her own clothing. Except for the jumper, which was Harry's. She looked good in it, at least.

She stretched out in front of him, assuming the position of the smaller inside curve, getting just close enough to touch him, but staying noticeably further away than she normally would have. Harry knew she was thrown off-guard.

"Hey." He said it quietly.

"Mmmm?"

"I hope you didn't come all the way out here just to shag me," he joked lightly. "If that's the case, I'm sorry for cutting it off."

She laughed a little. "No, no, I didn't."

Harry noticed the inflection in her voice. It sounded unhappy.

"You're worried," he said.

Ginny didn't turn over, but her arm, previously angled, flopped out straight. "I can't help it. Something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, Ginny."

"You don't want to _do it_ with me," she said. Harry repressed a laugh at how plainly she'd said it.

"So you _did_ come out here just for that," he smiled. "Maybe not tonight. But we can always try it in the future—"

"When you get back, Harry? That's not for another four months. Don't even joke around like that."

Harry didn't say anything. She was upset.

"Sometimes, I swear, you seem closer to _Malfoy,_ than you do to me," she continued. "And he's the last person you'd ever want to spend time with, I'm sure."

"Yeah."

No, Ginny, wrong again. Why was she so wrong about everything?

"Look, Ginny, I love you. _You._ I love doing things with you, sexual or not, but sometimes it doesn't always work out."

She still wasn't facing him, but she was stroking his hand idly. ". . . Will _we_ work out, Harry?"

He thought about it for a moment, and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, but landed on her ear instead.

Wrong.

"Yeah. We'll be fine, Ginny."

He promised to end it with her. To stop dragging it out.

One-thirty AM, and he'd already broken a resolution.

He thought about this, clutching onto Ginny's warmth in his bed, as he began to drift off into a comatose state of sleep. He was pacing his breathing, trying to match hers, angry at himself for going back on his word and angry at Ginny for not _getting_ it. His thoughts were happy and unwanted and confusing all at the same time, until he relented and cleared his mind the best he could. He was asleep.

A loud thud on the door and Pansy Parkinson's frantic voice proved to him that he was not.

"Potter!"

Ginny rolled over. "What the hell?"

"Potter!" It was not pretentiously voiced. She sounded upset. "Open the goddamn door, I know you're in there!"

"Bugger off, I'm tired," he somewhat yelled. There was too little effort put into it for it to be a yell.

"Tired? Fuck that, Potter, I need you out here!"

She had to be drunk.

"Goodnight, Pansy," he offered.

There was a _crack! _and a loud entry as Pansy had clearly blown the door handle off. Though the door would not open due to whatever charms had been placed on the room, she peeped through the gaping hole she'd made.

"Look, I don't care what you're doing with your pauper-arsed girlfriend! Draco got in a fight, and I need you to come talk to the authorities before they do something serious!"

Harry's pulse quickened, but Ginny leapt into the conversation first.

"That's his own damn fault, don't you think?"

"Excuse me? He was hit first!" Pansy sounded desperate for help. She turned to ignore Ginny. "Please, Potter, come on. He can't walk."

"What? Why not?" he asked, now sitting up.

"Trust me, Potter, it's bad. Now get _up_, will you?"

Harry took one look at Pansy's now visible face and saw just how stricken with worry she truly was. Was it really that messy? If Draco was involved, then the answer was more than likely a resounding _yes_.

"What are you doing?" Ginny whispered. "You're not seriously going all the way out there?"

Harry offered a look of apology to her as he threw on a coat. "Come with us, if you want."

She winced. "I don't think I should."

"Fine." Harry didn't want his actual frustration to show through, not after what had just happened, but he couldn't help it. Not if she was going to act like that.

"Wait, Harry . . . " Ginny said, quickly stopping him before he go to the door. "I'll go."

Harry looked at her unsurely as he jerked the door open. Every time it was destroyed, it just _had_ to be blasted to bits. First Draco, now Pansy . . . it had to be a Slytherin thing.

"Sure," he said, making certain to grab his wand. She quickly hopped off the bed and did the same.

Whatever demon had possessed the three of their brains had obviously sadistic intentions. Harry was following Pansy with a quickened pace, Ginny trailing, until they'd reached the front of the school and were able to apparate out of the property. Side-along had always been one thing, but when Pansy was in the middle and Ginny was shooting death glares at the both of them, things got a little trickier. Harry wasn't even sure why he was going along with it all. He didn't know how bad the situation was. For all he knew, Pansy could be out of her mind, and leading them off a cliff. But the idea of having to cover for Draco was pushing him to trust her.

He would've laughed. It was one thing to trust Draco Malfoy. Now the universe was expecting him to get along with Parkinson? Severus Snape was reeling in his grave, surely.

And then they'd landed. They were outside of a pub, in the wizarding village closest to the school. It wasn't big. Harry was uncertain; Pansy was leading them inside and past the bar. It was completely empty, though evidence of some sort of action was scattered across the floor in the form of broken glass and wood chips.

"Joe would've cleaned those up by now, but he's in the back with him," Pansy explained. Harry easily figured who the other "him" was.

Sure, Harry expected "bad". Pansy had said it was "bad", after all. But Ginny couldn't even accurately sum up the amount of damage Draco had apparently taken, not even in her uncontrolled "oh my god!" that slipped out. The bench he was sitting on was saturated in red stains, smeared by Draco shifting position. His white shirt was anything but white by now. Hilariously enough, Harry noticed an upcoming black eye.

"So he took you on muggle-style?" Harry said in a much lighter tone than expected. Ginny looked horrified, and for once, Pansy seemed to be in agreement, but Harry was certainly a contrast. "What, don't tell me you don't know how to duck, Malfoy?"

Draco offered a small smile, but keeping it there seemed to prove tough. "Three jinxes, six punches, and one hell of a nasty curse that I can't quite figure out," he said, looking down at his right shin. His pants leg was rolled up, and a good amount of gore was exposed. "Won't stop eating away at all that," he said passively. Apparently, he was on the same level as Harry in terms of seriousness.

"Will you stop taking it so lightly? You need attention," Pansy said, leaning down to get a look at the flesh and wincing.

"You give me plenty of that, I reckon," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

"_Medical_, Draco, Medical."

"Right."

Harry took a seat on the blood-spattered bench, next to Draco. "It _is_ pretty bad, though. You get a look at the guy?"

Draco shut his eyes as he tilted his head back against the wall. "Didn't need to. Known him for years."

"What?" Ginny and Harry exclaimed at the same time. Harry gave her a double-take before turning back to Draco.

"I keep telling you, there are still people out there to get me. Well, get to my father, mostly, but I'm all the same."

"God, Draco, what the hell do you keep referring to?" Harry said, sheepishly trying to cover for himself when he realized he used the wrong moniker.

"People we've laid off, people we've put in Azkaban. My father killed a few. It's only natural to expect something like this to happen as a result."

"Yeah, but all the way out here? We're not even in the same continent anymore," Harry offered, ignoring the negatives of what Draco said.

"So what? My father did business out here. People have families. Word gets around," he said, steadily getting more pensively quiet.

A large man who must've been the Joe that Pansy had referred to earlier came out of the back storage room. "Well, I've got some dittany, but other than that, you're out of luck," he said, setting the sloshing bowl down on the ground next to them. Draco mumbled a quick "thanks".

"Wait, so what did Pansy mean by 'authorities'? Didn't anyone catch the guy?" Ginny asked. Draco actually answered her. Good for him, Harry noted.

"No. It's all on me. They came by when Pansy was gone, and I mean, I don't have the cleanest slate in the world. Lucky for me they let me off, New Year's, you know, but I'm not going to instigate any sort of vengeance plot anytime soon." He slumped against the wall again, after leaning down to see if the dittany would be effective. It slowed the effects, at least.

"Well, I guess we can get you back to the dorm, when you're ready. I'm sure Tonks will know what to do," Harry said.

"Maybe."

"Can you two go help clean up or something? I'm going to help him up," Harry said, greeting Ginny's don't-make-me-work-with-her glare. Still, they reluctantly went to help tidy up the bar room with Joe, who seemed nice enough to treat them to a bit of gin.

"Hey, you going to be okay?" Harry said, when they were out of earshot. Draco didn't seem to be in the same joking mood he was earlier.

"Yeah. It's no big deal."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "It's kind of a huge deal, Draco. I don't want you shoving this off like it's nothing."

Draco wasn't in a joking mood at all. "I'll shove it off all I want. It's not like it happened to _you,_" he said snappily. "You were busy touching _her_ all night, if I had to bet."

Harry began to speak, but his words quickly changed into a confused spatter. "What? No, that has nothing to do with this. Don't even go there."

"Excuse me, Potter, if I had a rough night, but I'll bring up any goddamn thing I want."

"You're mental," Harry said, a little louder than he would've liked. "You get beat the fuck up, and you blame me when I came all the way out here in the middle of the night to make sure you're okay?"

This seemed to shut Draco up.

"Well?" Harry urged him again.

"Sorry. I'm just a little out of it right now."

He'd said it much more calmly. If he was going to flip switches so quickly, Harry was going to have to be prepared.

"I'm trying to help," Harry said again.

"I know."

Harry had steadied his breathing, and not bothering to check if the girls were watching, pulled Draco in close. Draco surprisingly stayed there, leaning against Harry's shoulder, for a long time. Harry had the odd sensation from before, when he was with Ginny, that this was _good_. Ginny being close wasn't like that at all.

"You shouldn't be touching me," Draco said in a low voice. "I'm not your girlfriend."

"Might as well be," Harry joked quietly. Draco gave him a light shove, obviously a sign that he'd lost too much blood, because normally, his offensive attacks kind of hurt. "Hey, stop moving," Harry instructed. "You'll make all that worse."

But before Harry could do anything about it, Pansy's silhouette appeared in the doorframe down the short hallway. She took a look at the two of them, and though Harry nearly separated immediately, he didn't. His heart was racing. She'd seen them.

But what happened next, he couldn't understand. As Ginny was about to walk over, Pansy broke her stare and motioned her away from the doorframe. Something about turning chairs over onto the tables. Harry took a moment to register what just happened. She'd kept Ginny from seeing.

_She'd kept Ginny from seeing._

Harry watched Pansy move away, easily hearing the argument between the two girls, but held onto Draco.

"Is Pansy a good person? Deep down inside and everything?" he quietly asked Draco.

The blonde sat up a bit, and furrowed an eyebrow. "Pansy? Hell no."

Harry smiled. New Year's, two o'clock in the morning, and he'd already started to _almost_ like another Slytherin.

* * *

A/N: Midterm time! Almost wrapping this thing up, slowly but surely. I've got things figured out, at least. Review if you like unicorns, and thanks to those who do so regardless XD


	18. Showering

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

By two-thirty in the morning, Harry wondered if he'd ever get to sleep tonight. But now, nearly an hour later and accompanied by the heavy weight on his shoulders that was Ginny Sleeping With Hermione, he knew he didn't even have a chance. She'd left to go down to the girls' room nearly an hour before, still burdened by the fact that Harry wouldn't and couldn't get a rise for her— or, because Harry wasn't fully fluent in the female mentality, it was due to some other reason about "not caring enough" or something along those lines. He'd forgot what she said, exactly. Just the mere fact that she was still concerned with herself more than the rather urgent situation with Harry's roommate was enough to make him numb. He didn't care, not right now. He'd tried to care, and he'd definitely tried to enjoy the night with her, but if Harry had a sickle for every time things went _right_, he would've bought out the national Quidditch team by now.

Yes, she'd helped them get back, toting an off-balance Malfoy alongside the rest of them, and then she left.

Harry tried to think of the right explicative for her, not paying much attention as Draco leaned between his shoulder and the bathroom sink.

"Fucking bitch," Draco spat underneath his breath. Harry broke himself out of his concentration.

"My thoughts exactly."

Draco looked up, apparently confused. "Sorry? I'm referring to _this_," he said sharply, propping his leg upon the closed toilet lid. The bloodflow had slowed dramatically, but the wound still looked horrid, like freshly sliced veal.

Harry felt something between a blush and a cough come on. Of course he hadn't been referring to Ginny. Harry mentally slapped himself for speaking so soon. And, instead, he immediately tried to concentrate on what Draco was doing.

There wasn't a potion that Harry knew of that could easily treat something like this. Draco would've known that. With Snape for a godfather, there was probably very little he _didn't_ know. Instead, he was trying out some sort of countercurse (he did say it was a curse, right? Or a hex? Harry wished he would've been there . . . ) that didn't seem to be doing much. The edges of the slice attempted to meet, but the gorge between them was simply too far a stretch. Draco audibly sighed. If he wasn't sure what to do, what happened next?

"It's not that bad, trust me," Draco said, noticing what must have been a worried look on Harry's face. "I've had worse . . . no thanks to you, really," he added in an odd tone. Harry assumed he'd tried to make it into a joke, but a heavy feeling dropped into the pit of his stomach as he realized this wasn't far off from the effects of Harry's Sectumsempra. God, that was a horrible image.

"Stop messing with it," Harry said, swallowing his guilt. "We can get someone up here to look at it."

"Mmmm," Draco acknowledged, still fixated on the damage. He really was a mess. How he'd managed to get himself so destroyed, Harry would never know.

_"God, Malfoy, don't you know how to duck?"_

Harry was sure Draco was more than well equipped in defense. They'd been rivals for a reason. There was plenty of good fighting on Draco's part. Surely, he had to know how to throw a few hexes in return . . .

And then, as Harry watched Draco peel off his overcoat, it suddenly occurred to him that Draco _hadn't _fought back. There was no doubt in his mind. Between his new job and his desire to start over again, Draco probably didn't even lift his wand in protest. He'd simply taken it, like there was no avoiding the heat. _What the hell is wrong with you, Draco?_ he thought. He could've gotten himself killed. Would he even care?

Harry hoped he did.

"Turn around, Potter."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Or, better yet, leave. Yeah, that's a better idea," Draco said casually. If Harry hadn't been caught off guard, he might've known what the bloody hell Draco was talking about.

"What? Why? What did I do?"

The blonde raised an eyebrow. "Nothing, Potter. I'm going to take a shower. I'd rather not have you watch me undress," he commented easily.

"A shower? You can't take a shower with _that_," Harry said, motioning to Draco's open chunk of shin meat. He decided against a rebuttal of the "undressing" part.

"The hell I can't." Draco dropped his foot firmly back on the ground. He still wasn't looking at Harry when he spoke.

"You can hardly walk, let alone douse that thing in hot water, Draco," Harry said. "_Why_ do you need to take one now?"

"Because," Draco said flatly, "I feel like it, Potter. I've had a rough night and I'd like to go to bed without smelling like bourbon and Pansy." He said it in a tired voice. Was Draco fighting with him or not?

He looked at the blonde. Ever since Ginny arrived, they'd been worse off. He didn't want to argue with Draco, not when they were this tired, and _especially_ not after tonight, but somehow, he missed it. Arguing meant that everything was okay. That _they_ were okay.

Harry sighed. "Fine. All right. Take a shower. But I'm not leaving. That thing might explode or clog the drain with puss," he said.

"I don't know where the bloody hell you come up with ideas like that, Potter," Draco said, unfolding a towel as he tried to hide a smirk. That was a good sign.

"It's 'Harry'."

"What?"

"Not 'Potter', remember."

"Oh," Draco added calmly. "Can I call you that again? I thought your girlfriend still had that on reserve."

Harry wanted to argue about that, too, but somehow, he couldn't. "She definitely doesn't by now. Probably hates me. Besides, I'd rather you have dibs on the name," he said plainly.

Draco picked his jacket back up from the tiled floor and hung it on the rack. "If you say so."

Harry leaned against the chair rail on the wall, his arms crossed. "Why are you so upset about her?"

"Why are _you_?" Draco turned the question around.

Harry didn't answer.

Draco must've picked up on his bad blood. He gave Harry a single pat on the back in apology.

"Turn around, then."

"What?"

"I'm undressing. I already told you that."

Harry reluctantly did as he was told. He suddenly felt like he was in grade school. No peeking allowed.

After a minute or so, and after being brushed with the uncaring positions of Draco's falling clothing, Harry heard the shower curtain pull shut. "Am I good?" he asked, still facing the door.

"You're fine. You can turn back around."

Harry tried not to let his mind wander too far as he glanced at Draco's scattered dressings. Apparently, he'd managed to get his jeans off and around the wound without hurting it too badly. Harry was glad he didn't have to cut them off via wand, like they always did in all those muggle medical dramas.

The water faucet creaked on, and a sharp intake of breath was heard from the other side of the shower curtain.

"You okay? Cold?"

"Why would it be cold? I don't take cold showers."

Harry took a seat on the closed toilet, his legs crossed. He smiled. "Sorry. This is a wizarding school. Right." He found himself staring at the soap dish on the sink to keep his gaze averted in the opposite direction of the shower. "Sometimes it takes a while for the water to heat up in the showers I'm used to."

The water ran for a few seconds before he got an answer out of Draco. He'd probably been drenching his hair or something.

However, whatever Draco said was drowned out by the sounds of the heavy stream of water pressure.

"What?" Harry asked again.

The stream was interrupted by what Harry imagined was Draco moving away from it. "Nothing. Pass me my wand, will you?"

Harry was a little upset over Draco not repeating whatever he'd said. It wasn't as though there was anything Harry couldn't manage, when it came to Draco's comebacks. He'd already heard the worst of his snark; there shouldn't have been any reason for Draco to hold back.

Idly, he picked up the wand from the counter. It was warm in his hand. He was just about to pass it toward the shower curtain when his brain kicked into motion. "Wait. Why do you need this?"

"Don't worry about it. Just hand it over, alright?"

Harry became suspicious. "Draco, I don't ever recall needing a wand in the shower."

The curtain ripped open on the far end, and Draco stuck his head out. It was much easier to hear him when he spoke. "Come on, Harry. _Now_." And with that, he soapily grabbed it out of Harry's hand.

Harry opened his mouth to say something snotty in return, but decided against it. Instead, he leaned forward and propped his elbows up against his knees. Draco didn't say anything.

Something in Harry's outer intestine told him that he should be worrying. Well, yes, that was obvious, he had _plenty_ of things to worry about. But this feeling wasn't in regard to Ginny. It wasn't very often now that he had _any_ feelings in regard to her.

Instead, he found himself reeling at the sight of his roommate, stupidly wishing he had the opportunity to spend time with him in lieu of accompanying his not-quite-girlfriend for the holiday. He should've been more sensitive to the rest of the world outside of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, but he couldn't quite manage enough ability to care. Hell, Pansy Parkinson seemed to catch on to their "relationship", but Harry didn't have the will to worry about that either. It'd shocked him that she'd seen, but he was either too tired or too naïve to pursue her opinion. No one listened to Pansy these days, anyway.

Harry was crumpling the bottom of his shirt. "Draco?"

All he got in response was the sound of continuously running water.

"Draco, are you okay?" His heart rate was twitching. "Draco?"

"Yeah."

Harry breathed in. "Don't scare me like that."

Harry could have called himself stupid, would've shot himself in the foot for being quick to jump to conclusions, but didn't know how to let in some relief. He didn't get much of it these days.

And then it rang out much more clearly than before in the now steam-filled bathroom.

"Harry . . . I need your help . . ."

Whatever relief he'd attempted immediately drained from his body.

He didn't rely on logic after he realized what Draco had said. Almost reflexively, he pulled himself to his feet, still wearing his trainers, and threw back the shower curtain. It skid to a rumple at the end of the rod as he realized what he was looking at. Aside from the immediate awkward feeling of greeting Draco in his bare skin, the tub of the shower, from drain to edge, and trailing the bits around the faucet, were oiled with a slick misty tinge of orangey-red, all leading back to the source of his leg. Draco's handprints were visible on the temperature handle and pressed like stamps on the tiled wall to his side, obviously signs that he'd been balancing between wiping the blood off his leg and resisting to slip. He was still fixated on his wand, which he kept tapping at the source of the gore in repeated franticism.

Harry stood silhouetted underneath the curtain rod, utterly shocked. "What the _hell_, Draco?" Had he been in there the entire time like this? "What's your _damage?_ Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

Draco slightly shook his head and didn't answer. He winced in another attempt at a countercurse.

"God, Draco! Say something, will you?"

"I can't, I'm trying something," he said quietly, but the longer he attempted the nonverbal incantations, the worse it seemed to get. "It shouldn't be doing this . . ."

"The hell it shouldn't, _you _shouldn't be doing this! Come on, get out, I'll help you—"

Draco shoved Harry's hand away when he'd reached out to catch his shoulder. "No," he said, very strongly. "I mean— no . . . " He looked as though he was ready to pass out. "Help me try. Get your wand."

Harry's reaction went from outrage to something else he couldn't identify. He softened himself. Draco was still standing, remotely hunched, looking desperate for something to work out. He shouldn't have gotten in the stupid shower in the first place. Still, as much as Harry wanted to be upset, and as much as he wanted to unashamedly release all the night's tension on one final argument with Draco, he couldn't. He couldn't fight him. The water was still running, bouncing in heavy droplets off of Draco's naked spine and onto Harry's clothes. He should've called for Lupin.

And yet, he didn't. Draco wouldn't want that kind of exposure, after all. Hesitantly, Harry reached into his back pocket and unsheathed his wand, the same one he'd used since he bought it when he was eleven. Since the day he met Draco in the first place.

"What do you want me to do," Harry asked, feeling a little foolish. The scene in front of him begged to be erotic, and was the antithesis of everything he'd gone through with Ginny. Here he was, frustrated and exhausted and attempting to keep Draco alive, with the open opportunity to turn things in the direction his primal mind wanted, but he couldn't. He wouldn't. Kissing Draco would not make things better. Touching him would not make the problems of the day go away. Watching the form of his roommate, exposed and helpless and humanized beyond any means Harry had ever imagined only made it worse.

Had Draco been a god to him, all this time? Some sort of intangible idea of what _could_ be?

"Can you spot control an Incendius charm?"

"Can I _what_?" Harry asked. Draco was referring to _fire_, of all things?

"Solder it shut," he said under his breath.

Harry swallowed his gut after it threatened to crawl up his esophagus. "Are you out of your mind Draco? You can't do that, that thing's injured bad enough on its own—"

"Exactly. I can't. That's why I'm asking you." Draco looked up at him.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"How else am I going to fix this?"

For some reason, Harry didn't think he was referring to his leg with his last comment.

Harry met his eyes in a straightforward manner. They could've been his own, at least in spirit. They were just as tired and out of options.

He slipped his trainers off and kicked them sideways. They hit the wall with a hollow thud. He had to have lost his mind.

No, he'd done that a long time ago.

"Okay."

He balanced himself against the wall as he took a step over the ledge of the tub and stepped into the torrent of wetness falling from the showerhead. It immediately soaked his clothing against his skin, and was a little hotter than he was used to, but he didn't mind much.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, now paying more attention to where Harry was.

"You're going to fall. You can barely stand up as it is, let alone through something as painful as the idea you've got in mind." He awkwardly positioned himself to the side of Draco, his jeans runching against the curtain. "Let me know what I'm supposed to do."

Draco looked at him with what had to be uncertainty. How afraid did he have to be to ask Harry to do this? This was something he was underplaying, surely, but he was perfectly serious about needing help, and had allowed Harry to see the damage of the situation. Just a few minutes prior, he wouldn't even let Harry watch him undress. Draco knew this was bad, just as much as Harry recognized it. The blood, the injury, the residue on the walls, the entire fucking existence of their relationship in the first place. They were digging a hole, and the threat of it caving in was too great.

"Just do it, right up on it. Close it up."

"Are you sure?"

"Just _do it_, Harry," Draco strained, his open mouth catching a stream of warm water before he spat it back out. "Please, just do it."

They were squinting through the downpour, both wiping their faces free of endless wet impairments. Harry was standing in the same pool as Draco, the running gossamer dribblets from the wound blossoming in the water like spilled ink.

"Why didn't you stop him? The bloke who did this to you?" Harry spat, his mouth catching too much. "Why let it end up like this?"

"Don't even ask about that right now, Harry— really, please close it up, I can't have it keep bleeding like that."

Though Harry wanted an answer, he did as Draco told. The tip of his wand, hovering above skin, focused a searing heat into the edge of the gash. He did his best to ignore the intensity of the scream it elicited, and even caught hold of Draco as he stumbled backward.

"Why didn't you walk away, at least?"

Draco clenched his jaw as he tried to shakily breathe in. "P-Potter, god, give me warning next time," he squinted.

Harry's clothes were darkened and hung heavily on his body as they dripped. His hair was in the way, but he managed another few centimetres of burning the wound shut. It smelled very odd.

"You let him do this to you," Harry said flatly, cutting through the restrained sounds of pain projecting from Draco's chest voice.

"I— did— _not,_" Draco grunted in succession between Harry's administrations of heat. "I didn't."

"You didn't fight back." Just as he'd assumed earlier.

Draco tried to pull himself out of Harry's grip, but there was no way he could stand up on his own. "I _did_. And I stopped— I told you to give me warning!"

"You stopped? What do you mean you stopped?"

"I stopped fighting— can you focus on what you're doing, please?" He was easily running out of energy, Harry could tell. His strength wasn't doing much to counter Harry's.

"You stopped fighting." Again, the crackle of dying flesh was heard. Heat rose into steam as water fell on the wound.

"Y—yes, I'm not going to kill anyone!"

"But you fought?" Harry asked, looking up through his streaked glasses.

"I'm not going to _not_ stand up for myself, Harry, I still have _honor_," he said breathlessly, his eyes red from the experience.

Harry could've smiled, and almost did. "Finish this, then."

"What? I can't even hold my wand straight," Draco answered. True, his arms were unstable and were jerking more and more after every length of sealed skin. "I can't."

Harry set his own wand down on the edge of the shower tub, and slowly, encased Draco's hand in his own, stabilizing it in its control over his motor movements. Arm over arm, hand in hand, he held onto Draco so that he get a feel for his wand positioning. "Here."

Draco took a long, shaky inward breath as he tightened his grip around his wand. He resisted movement, not daring to attempt anything just yet, and he leaned into Harry for leverage. "Okay."

He let loose a guttural sort of discomfort as he led the solder upward to the top of the wound, shuddering in Harry's steady grasp, before finishing with a limp drop into Harry's chest.

* * *

Harry watched the rise and fall of Draco's side. Over and over again, he'd breathe in and breathe out, finally subjected to the relaxation they both deserved. Harry tried matching the rate of his breathing. It wasn't quite the same, but it created an pleasantly offset pace between the expansions of their bodies. Draco's back to Harry's front. It was the first time they'd done this intentionally. He felt at ease.

Maybe this was what he was supposed to go after. Ginny wasn't here anymore. Sure, she was still visiting, but Harry didn't know how much he'd see of her before she left. Maybe he was supposed to be in this spot, on his bed, curled between Draco and a heavy set of winter blankets. Fate, or whatever Dumbledore would call it, certainly proved its existence before. Was this really where he was destined to end up?

But no, that was one thing Dumbledore always stressed to him. He always had a choice. That was the problem. He always _had_ to have a choice, and always _had_ to choose. Harry almost wished that he didn't have any say in it at all, that he could lay here with Draco for hours and days and months without any circumstance of his own, but things didn't work that way. He had to do something about Ginny. He'd probably destroy his ties to the Weasleys, in the end. And he could only imagine walking out of this with Draco and being publicly displayed as gay.

He buried his face into the nape of Draco's neck. The blonde made some sort of mumbled sound, but didn't move much. It didn't take much for him to fall asleep, not after what had happened. Harry was only grateful that Zabini was such a flake and only visited the room on odd occasions.

He repositioned his legs, causing Draco's semi-dormant consciousness to do the same. Only this time, the uncomfortability of the "treatment" leftovers had him roll onto his back.

"Sorry," Harry said quietly, still facing Draco. "Did I wake you up?"

Draco sighed, before sitting up. "No," he said as he pulled his leg out from under the covers. "This doesn't have the best recovery sensation."

Harry smiled weakly in apology, but watched as Draco deemed the pain tolerable and laid back down. "You'll probably scar."

"We'll match then, huh?" Draco said softly, but in the same sarcastic tone Harry was used to hearing. He stretched out again, and moved back against Harry with a tentative subtlety.

Harry sunk into his pillow, staring at the opposite wall ahead of Draco's outline. "I want to stay like this."

"I'm not going anywhere tonight, not with this leg," Draco yawned, before settling into a silence.

Harry had his arm around Draco's side. "No, you're not, are you," he smiled. "But I mean, I want to stay like this with you. Friends. None of that ridiculousness that Ginny caused."

"Friends?"

"Well, erh, yeah. More than that, I guess."

"More than friends," Draco clarified.

It sounded strange at first, but Harry couldn't describe it any better. "Yeah. More than friends."

Harry waited a while for an answer, hoping that Draco could come up with one, but was concerned when the blonde sighed. "I don't know, Harry."

"What do you mean?" They'd done it all, hadn't they? All the right steps, all the right words, hell, he'd just held his naked body not too long ago.

"I don't know yet."

"Are you scared?"

Draco rolled over slightly, making sure not to put pressure on his leg. "I don't have anything to be scared for. I'm a continent away from my family, I don't have many acquaintances who would find out, and I'll be staying here for the next few years. Who would care?" He looked up at Harry. "I think _you_ have more reason to worry."

"I'm too tired to even try," Harry admitted.

"Then don't worry about it too much," Draco advised. "Not until morning, at least."

Harry tried to agree, but he didn't want to. He knew what he wanted, after all. He'd just decided it, right? Choice was more important than predestined events. He chose this, goddamit, that made it work, didn't it?

He was positive that Draco chose this too. He had to.

But what if he didn't? What could possibly be holding Draco back?

"Hey. I told you not to worry about it," Draco said, nearly reading Harry's mind. He knew him well.

Harry squeezed Draco's hand in reassurance. "I won't."

The scar on the back of Harry's hand, a leftover from the ordeals of fifth year detentions, gave off a twinge. Harry told Draco he wouldn't worry. That was a lie if he ever knew one better.

* * *

A/N: Fueled through Muse albums on repeat. I don't particularly care for Muse (they're great, not my favorite) but it certainly helped me get this thing on (virtual) paper. Also, being in a shower with someone while you're fully clothed and they're ass naked is just as crazy as it is ^^here^^. College tip #1: someone's puking uncontrollably at your party, shove 'em in the shower! Yay!


	19. That Goodbye Feeling

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Draco must come to terms with his beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

"Fuck." A trail of ink dribbled heavily down the side of the desk, wet and shiny and staining the hardwood drawers. At the end of the trail, it seeped triumphantly into the carpeting, and at the beginning, the majority of Draco's letter was blotched out with black. He scoot back in the chair quickly, making sure none of it got on his clothing. He'd had enough of this liquid business, thank you very much. First it'd been ungodly amounts of bodily fluids— blood and sweat and spit and tears, metaphorically dripping all over the latter half of his past six months here. The months where Harry had wormed his way in. And now, after all that, Draco was making messes and spilling things through the talent that was uncoordination. Sure, it was ink today, but yesterday he'd managed to spill Pansy's glass of pumpkin juice, and tomorrow?

Draco exhaled calmly. He didn't know what would happen tomorrow. Or the next day, or the next year. There was only one thing he was certain of, that deep down at the root of it all, this would not have a Hollywood ending.

Of course, he'd just learned about muggle film studios last week anyway. What did he know about Hollywood endings.

He deftly straightened the papers on the desk before cleaning the mess up with a routine _scourgify_. He'd never had to use that spell so often in his life until he'd been stuck in this room with Harry. Sure, at first it was the Gryffindor making all of the messes, but by now, Draco had become enough of a nervous wreck that he was causing them himself. They'd certainly had one bloody hell of a time cleaning up the bath a few weeks ago.

And that was just it. After "classes" had resumed, Draco avoided stirring the momentum between Harry and himself any further. It wasn't that he didn't want it. He'd definitely come to terms with the fact that he held a certain lustfulness for Potter, and maybe even something a bit more— he wasn't going to sort through _those_ feelings anytime soon. He just knew that Harry wasn't ready for something like this. Draco wasn't.

He chucked the now-empty inkwell at the rubbage bin across the room. It missed. This was why he was never a Chaser in school.

Oh, he was happy. Pansy had suggested that he wasn't. He had a job, and he had everything he needed over in the States through his father's still-amiable connections. He could live in a flat or a loft or whatever those fancy things were in the city that only rich wankers could afford. He _was_ a rich wanker. Draco had no reason to be unhappy. If he was experiencing any sort of odd emotion, it was fear. But he could live with that.

He could be happy, and he could be scared shitless all at once. It wasn't any different from snogging Potter.

But _what_ was he afraid of? Sure, he'd have to deal with the bigotry and the smear campaigns that were bound to crop up when mention of his name got out, but somehow, he knew it wouldn't be too much trouble. And it wasn't the idea of being isolated in another part of the world; he'd grown up an only child, and didn't really have any friends anyway. It wasn't as though he'd have any emotional attachment to leaving his home permanently.

He wasn't emotionally attached to Harry. Maybe to his visage, but certainly not to him.

. . . And then it occurred to Draco that this was absolutely mental. He had to admit it; of _course_ he was attached to Harry. He didn't see any other reason to continue going to these lessons at all, if not for the fact that Harry would be there to antagonize and joke with and talk to. He'd had Harry there every night, they would work on homework or read in silence, it didn't matter— he enjoyed his company, through it all. He enjoyed a lot _more_ than his company. Everything would've been great, as it _had_ been going great, except for the fact that Draco knew at the root of it all, Harry would never come around to a decision. He'd already swapped between deciding to break up with Ginny or staying with her for the sake of his friends. He'd swapped around that idea three times in the last week. Sure, he'd said he wanted to be with Draco, in the end, but how could Draco ever trust the idea when Harry himself didn't even know what he wanted? No, there were no decisions being made at all.

Unfortunately, this was a time in Draco's life where decisions needed to be decided upon.

Draco looked at his still ink-splatted parchment with scrutiny. It vaguely resembled a Rorschach.

He scoffed, leaning back in his seat. "Don't you try to psychoanalyze me," he said, staring at the black mess.

Merlin, he was speaking to a piece of paper. On second thought, he might've needed the medical review. For all the marbles he'd lost.

Draco turned his head. To the left of him, the door unlatched, swinging wide as it revealed not only Harry, but a small intruder nearly a sixth of his size, who was intent on clinging to the bottom seam of his coat. Harry kicked the door closed as he stabilized Teddy, who was about to teeter backwards.

"Hey," Harry said a little breathlessly, glancing only momentarily at Draco.

"Nice kid," Draco muttered back, staring at his papers before pulling out a fresh leaf.

Harry sat on the bed with a bounce, taking Teddy with him. "Hope you don't mind. Lupin and Tonks need a day off." Draco wasn't watching, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry avert his attention to his godson, whose fringe he was certain had just flashed a bit of flamingo pink.

"Mmm." Draco didn't particularly like the idea of having to baby-sit (though, he wasn't doing anything, really, but having to baby-sit Harry's baby-sitting).

"Haven't seen you around much today," Harry said offhandedly. "You didn't come down for lunch, earlier."

Draco continued to organize his parchment. No, Harry, he didn't. It was nice of him to notice.

"I've been busy," Draco ceded, giving a final glance at his original stained letter before crumpling it into a ball.

"Oh." Harry was busy with Teddy again, but looked up after a moment. "What's that?" Harry said, his eyes trailing the paper ball as it soared through the air and hit the corner closest to the rubbage. It missed again, and instead fell to the carpet dead of momentum.

Draco hesitated, and the words came out a little quiet. "It was a thank-you letter to McGonagall."

Harry let out a squashed sort of snicker, stopping himself before it could escape, but at the same time Teddy broke out into a delighted laugh that bounced off the walls. Draco's insides tightened up, frustrated from the noise.

"Really? That's out of character for you, Draco," Harry joked, his smile even wider from Teddy's previous addition to the conversation.

"I can't show gratitude?"

Harry let his grin melt into a complacently small smile. "I'm still getting used to it, coming from you," he said. "You still haven't thanked me for New Year's."

Draco felt a heavy weight beginning to form in his stomach. He had to thank Harry? For what? Yes, he'd helped him out in the end, but he'd deserted Ginny to do it. And though the inner Slytherin in Draco screamed that yes, he'd won! Ginny had lost!, Harry's fickleness was a _horrible_ thing to be thankful for.

"No, I don't suppose I did."

"Well?" Harry said jokingly. It started to annoy Draco that he wasn't taking the subject seriously. But what got to him even more was Harry's movement— he'd stood up and crossed the room, coming to a halt behind Draco. His hand rested on his shoulder. It was friendly and suggestive, warming yet uncannily and impossibly antagonizing. "I mean, you're okay, right? We haven't talked about any of that lately."

Draco closed his eyes. "We can talk about that later."

"Why not now?"

"I told you _later_," Draco said, his voice growing increasingly flat. Harry took his hand back up.

"What the hell, Draco?" he said, moving back toward the bed and sitting on the edge. "If I did something to offend you, just bloody tell me."

Draco answered a little too quickly in a snap. "No." And then he cleared his throat. "No. I'm just trying to sort things out." He laced his fingers together, bracing his forehead against his risen hands.

"Like what?" Harry said, sinking back into the mattress.

"Work, mostly. Moving. A lot of—" he paused.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Come on, Draco. It's just me."

It was just Harry. Like he should be comfortable with "just Harry". It was really too bad, then, that Harry was making him anything but.

"Did you hear what I said, Potter? Lay off."

Harry gave him a scrutinized look before averting his gaze. "God, what's your damage?"

That was it. His hand hit the desk as it came down from his forehead. "You really can't tell, Potter? Really?" Draco felt his pulse speed up. "You, _you're_ what's driving me mental— I mean one minute you come in here sulking like you're bloody breaking up with the best ginger that's ever happened to you, and the next minute you try to get me in your fucking bed! And here you are, wanting to _talk_ about it, while you bring in a one year-old for scenery!" He was still sitting down, but his muscles were screaming for him to stand up and follow his survival instinct. "Do you _ever_ think, Potter?"

Teddy had made a few gulping noises, but did not cry. He sat wide-eyed, clinging to his godfather, who in turn was shell-shocked, but the expression quickly changed to a darker one. Harry gingerly peeled the infant's arms off and moved to stand up. "Me?" he said defensively. "Me, Draco?" His voice had begun to rise after he'd set down Teddy. "Of course I think. I think so much that I feel like my fucking brain is going to fall out! But you wouldn't realize that, would you? It's not like you have any _choices_ to make, it's all just sprawled out in front of you!"

Draco watched intently, feeling the scrutiny that Harry was shooting at him like lasers. He didn't care. He'd shoot back.

But Harry continued, and this time, Teddy let out a loud outburst and began to cry. It caught Draco off-guard.

"You don't have a girlfriend. You don't have a bloody _family_. You just waltz over here like its no skin off your nose, get the best job your name can give you with nothing to back it up, and you just happen to be okay with the fact you're homosexually in love with someone you've hated for years! You don't have to make _any_ choices!"

"I'm not okay with it." Draco said it very firmly, but couldn't bring himself to look at Harry after that last barrage.

"Yeah? Neither am I," Harry said breathlessly.

"I'm not 'in love'." Draco said, more tentatively than the first time.

At that, Harry simply stared at him, hard. Teddy was still wailing.

"Oh," was all Harry said, a stern look still on his face.

It was odd, but it felt as though Harry's anger dissipated slightly. Draco looked at him with hard eyes, trying to understand why that last comment sounded so heavy.

"Are you?" Draco asked, watching Harry's face for any sign of committal agreement.

He didn't look like he wanted to answer, but he met Draco's eyes with an unexpected lack of intensity.

"I don't know."

Draco knew one thing for sure, that Harry couldn't have been in love with him. There was no possibility at all that something of this calibre, of this level of secrecy and idiotic frenzy, could ever amount to something that would last. Draco knew this for sure. He had to believe it. If he didn't, then there would be a chance for some sliver of hope to seep its way into the situation, something telling him that yes, this could happen. This could be real.

He didn't want to face losing that hope.

"You don't know. Just like with Ginny. You don't know." Draco winced. "God, will you shut him up?"

Harry shot him another venomous look, but didn't reply right away as he moved back towards Teddy. He scooped him up, making sure he wasn't hurt and that the source of his upset was only the noise, before acknowledging Draco's existence. Teddy broke his screaming, leaving the room in a very unnecessary silence.

"He's a kid, Draco, lighten up," Harry said finally. "I don't know what's wrong with you sometimes."

"Yes, well, it's all my fault in the end, isn't it?"

Harry tried to start speaking, or at least, it looked like he did, but was having trouble at first. "Draco," he said in a strained voice, his eyelids clenched, "I'm sorry. I— I don't know what you want from me. I don't know what you expect me to say."

Draco fiddled with his quill, turning it over in his hand without looking at Harry. "I _want _you to be certain, about all of this. I _expect_ you can't, though."

"Don't you think I want to be?" Harry asked, his voice cracking. "Don't you think I'd gladly settle on our future if I could?"

Draco smirked in morose agreement. "What future. We don't have a future. Even if we wanted to stay _friends_, at the very least, we'll be a few thousand kilometres apart in a couple of weeks' time."

"So you're saying we should end it, then," Harry said.

"We don't have much to end," Draco shrugged. "Physically, we've done very little."

"I don't think a relationship has to rely on that sort of thing," Harry said defensively.

Draco leaned back in his seat calmly. "All right. Tell me, then, how far you've gotten with Ginny, and whether or not that's taken a toll on your _relationship_."

Harry didn't say much in response.

"I'm going to tell you something, in all honesty, that you should take to heart," Draco continued. "You don't understand this thing we have. I certainly have no bloody clue as to how it works. You need to go back to your girlfriend, and you need to continue with your life as though you'd never had this experience." Draco's words were mincing his nerves, cutting right down to his bones, but he had to be frank. "Trust me, Harry, it'll do us both a world of good."

Harry watched him until he finished. He shook his head, slowly at first, then began to deliberate with him. "No. That's not the way to do it. You can't tell me what to do, Draco," he said, more immaturely than Draco would've expected.

"Do you have an alternative plan, then?"

Harry smiled weakly. "No. I just don't want to pretend this never happened, I mean— come on, it's not exactly easy to forget."

Draco hummed. "No, you're right. But to everyone else, this never happened. To the history of the world, should we both end up rich and famous someday."

"You're already rich."

"And you're already famous," Draco answered, reluctantly giving into a grin.

Harry showed signs of a faint laugh, but he shook his head. "So, what, we're ignoring this out of shame, then?"

Draco put the quill back down, not bothering to stand it up in its proper location. "No. It's not that. I don't think so, at least. Personally, I'm rather selfish, and would fancy keeping my memories to myself instead of letting the world in on it."

"So you'll choose to acknowledge this after all?"

"Oh, of course. Come on, Harry, you're not the worst catch in the world. I shouldn't have any reason to glaze over all of this if you're that good of a snog."

Harry smiled nervously. "You're saying you'll think of me?"

"Often, I'll admit."

Harry studied Draco with a look that he couldn't exactly put into words, then broke his sight and turned to Teddy instead. "God, Draco, I don't know how it's going to be without you around."

"We'll both get more sleep," Draco said plainly, turning back around in his chair so that the leather backing faced Harry. "Well, I will, at least. You've probably got a lot more godson-sitting dates to take care of."

Teddy hiccuped. Draco wasn't paying attention, but Harry waited a few moments before saying anything. "Comm'ere, Draco."

"What?"

"You've gotta learn how to work with kids sometime," Harry said.

"Oh, no. Sorry, Potter, I'm not used to anything younger than a first year. You seem to be doing just fine on your own, there."

Harry, though still not smiling, nodded a bit. "I don't know why. I've never had to watch anything other than a herd of cats before for a neighbor," Harry said, in an allusion that Draco really didn't understand. "He just likes me, I guess."

"It's hard not to," Draco said, sighing heavily. "Though I truly want to murder you at times."

"You already would've."

Draco watched as Harry lifted Teddy's arms up, their skin moving to a scaly sort of reptilian texture on a whim. At first, Draco was sure he'd been seeing things, and it was already credited that he was mentally ill, but now he understood.

"Metamorphmagus, huh? Talented kid. Can he imitate you yet?"

Teddy glanced between Draco and Harry, managed a smile, and opened his mouth. "Fuck!" he exclaimed gleefully.

Harry rushed to attempt to teach his godson that there were certain words he shouldn't say, while Draco wiped tears away from his eyes in a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

* * *

Moonlight filled the room in slatted shapes, turning blackness into a milky sort of blue that made time indistinguishable. It wasn't night, and it wasn't morning, but it was a comforting sort of in-between that Harry didn't want to pass. Draco had fallen asleep behind him, and Teddy in front, giving him a complacent sort of encapture that he didn't want to leave.

But, one day, soon, he'd have to. He'd go back home, see Ron again, and try to start things over with Ginny. He needed to.

What would happen? If he left all of this behind, and left Draco behind, would he ever get another night like this? Would there still be that sense of belonging, if he never looked back?

This was impermanence at its best. It made him want it all, the hope and desire and incredible sense of sin brought to light, but he couldn't have it for much longer.

No, this was simply heaven, on lease.

He turned slightly, listening to the varied breaths between Draco and Teddy, the tones pitched octaves apart. It was a funny sort of harmony, but it worked.

In the end, it all worked.

* * *

Harry wasn't focusing on Seamus and Zach, who had just managed to spill the contents of two of their bags of luggage. He wasn't focusing on Hermione, either, though she was roughly pawing away the lint on the shoulder of his shirt. "This wasn't even in a muggle washing machine, Harry, how'd you manage to get it all over your clothes?" she asked, smiling with an eyebrow cocked at her own curiosity.

Across the way, Neville was trying to keep up with Luna, who had a rather fast gait when she wanted to. She set down her things in the fresh grass, as the days were slowly warming to an odd sort of heat, and waited kindly for him to catch up. Now that Harry looked at it, she wasn't moving too quickly; Neville just had a knack for making a mess of his things and had to slow down to be able to carry it all. Harry smirked. They hadn't changed much. It wouldn't surprise Harry if they wouldn't change at all, in the future.

He kind of liked that thought. Everything would stay the same, and everyone would be reliable. He'd know exactly what to think, and when to think it. It was a comforting thought.

Hermione decided there was no way she could possibly clean up Harry's shirt entirely and had given up. Even she was the same old Granger. That was, until he saw a peek of a lacy bra line when her top had gone slightly astray.

She blushed visibly, but shrugged it off. "Come on Harry, I'm going to the Burrow once we get back. What do you expect?"

He grinned. "Sorry. I don't know what to expect these days."

From the middle of the culdesac in front of the school gates, Charlie Weasley had unloaded a rather old record player that he'd "found in one of the classrooms". Apparently, when Harry asked, it wasn't "stealing" if it was going to a good home. Arthur Weasley would have a new toy, and the family wouldn't hear from him for weeks.

"How does it work?" he asked Hermione, who explained she'd put on many records before for her grandparents at their home. Though he didn't have any sort of electrical hookup, he'd got the only record that was on the turntable spinning with a bit of magic. Harry thought he'd heard Hermione call it "cheating" under her breath.

A jazzy sort of tune began to play, accompanied by a familiar voice that Harry had heard before. It was almost an ironic choice of music.

_Start spreadin' the news . . . _

"Oy, Harry. Come here a sec," Tonks called, before he could jump into Hermione and Charlie's conversation. He obliged, walking through a bit of mud first. "You all have the instructions, right? Me and Remus aren't taking this portkey with you guys, he's a bit too young—" she said, motioning to Teddy, who was stomping curiously in the wet ground. "Twelve ten, you got that? It's that champagne bottle over there, you can't miss it," she said.

"Champagne bottle?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow in jest.

"Well, yeah, you know, me and Remus had a bit of fun last night. Can't blame us for that."

Harry laughed, but even now, Harry wasn't focusing on Tonks, either, though he was trying.

"Right then. Good luck, Harry."

No, he wasn't focusing on anything other than the group of four students that had isolated themselves from the majority. Pansy and Draco were sitting on top of their suitcases while Daphne and Blaise were talking at them. They didn't seem to be listening. It would've been a conversation if Pansy and Draco were participating.

"Yeah. Thanks Tonks. I'll see you soon." Harry smiled, and gave the Lupin family a hug before walking back over to Hermione.

"Did she give you the instructions?"

"Yeah. We've got about three minutes."

From behind them, the song had begun to move into an instrumental interlude. Trumpets slid into high notes that didn't help with Harry's anticipation.

"You want to move your luggage over there?" Hermione asked, eyeing the champagne bottle with scrutiny. "Why our portkey has to be something that unsanitary, I'll never know. I hope they washed it out," she said.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Harry said to her, looking off to his side. "You know what, you go ahead and move your stuff. I'll be right back."

_I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps!_

"Oh— okay," she said in a confused tone, watching as he made his way behind Anthony Goldstein and Dean Thomas and leaping around the fallen pyramid of bags that Hannah Abbot had made with the Patil twins.

What he didn't expect, however, was that people would watch him. He approached the group of Slytherins intending to make as little of a scene out of it as possible, but Zach had hushed most of the group into a snickering sort of entourage behind him.

Draco looked up at him, his leg bouncing as he balanced his sitting weight on top of his largest suitcase. "Potter," he said in a quiet greeting.

Pansy, who was perched just the same, didn't meet Harry's eyes. "Your lot is staring," she said flatly. "Don't you have the supreme power to stop them or something?"

Harry pocketed his hands, but didn't turn around to look at the group. He kept his eyes on Draco. "No, I really don't care what they're doing."

_And find I'm king of the hill! Top of the heap! _

"Oh, well. My cab is here. There's not much for them to watch," Draco said plainly, pulling himself up off his luggage as the taxi drove around the bend.

"You're taking a cab?" Harry asked.

"What's wrong with that? I'm not familiar with the address I'm going to. I'm not about to apparate there just yet."

Harry shrugged. "Seems too proletariat for you. Muggle, at that."

"Can't say I haven't learned anything this year, then, if we're talking non-magical tolerance."

He pulled Pansy up by the hand, and after a moment of mutual silence, pulled her in for a hug. She seemed shocked at first, but broke into a sob into his chest.

If Harry had to guess, this was the first time Draco had shown her any compassion.

She stifled her sniffling as she resurfaced, hiding the fact that this must've been very hard for her. "Promise you'll come home for holidays?" she asked him, wiping underneath her eyes to guarantee no mascara had run.

"If I can, I will," he said simply. It wasn't much of a promise, in Harry's opinion, but Pansy nodded and didn't say anything further.

After loading his things into the boot of the car, Draco gave a curt nod to Blaise and Daphne, who were slightly occupied with each other's conversation, but paused to give him a proper goodbye. Though they didn't seem to be much of friends, Harry thought, they were respectful enough. Almost like business partners.

"Right then. I've got to sign a contract in an hour, so . . . "

He was looking at Harry with a placid sort of expression, but Harry knew better. They were both holding their tongues.

"Yeah. All right. I've got to get back to the Portkey in a minute or two," Harry added.

This should have been harder to do.

"Good luck, then," Draco said, his eyes not moving away from Harry's for a second. There was an electrifying intensity behind them.

From behind Harry, Zach yelled out something that they didn't really hear. Draco extended a hand.

This should have been more complicated, more difficult to manage—

Harry met Draco's grip in a handshake that lasted only a moment longer than it should have.

Why was time moving so fast?

_I'm gunna make a brand new start of it . . . _

"You too, Draco."

Harry's throat closed up when Draco let go of his hand.

Five years, or more, was a long time.

_If I can make it there, I'm gunna make it anywhere . . . _

The cab driver shut the door. Harry tried to breathe.

No.

_It's up to you . . ._

He should've said something. Anything else.

_New York, _

The record player was on high as the crowd behind him broke into a chatter, and Hermione called out to Harry to hurry before he missed their portkey. He got his legs to move, but the drowning sounds of the song's main line kept him out of focus as he watched the speeding muggle driver of the cab flick a cigarette out of the open window.

_New York!_

He gripped someone, anyone, who was holding on to the portkey or a connected piece of luggage, as he was quickly ripped away from the year when he _almost_ loved Draco Malfoy.


	20. Note

New York, New York

Overview: When Harry's classmates are asked to return for an 8th year of schooling in preparation for Ministry positions, there was little idea that it would take place in New York City. But not everyone is ready to face the post-war reality, and Harry and Draco must come to terms with their beliefs one way or another. HP/DM slash. Not explicit until later chapters. M for language and sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor am I affiliated in any way with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

A/N: After a ton of deliberation, I've decided to post the original one-shot that inspired this story as an actual chapter. It was originally going to be posted as a stand-alone fic that was still related to this particular plotline, but that might have made it too much to sift through (at least on FF), so I'm slapping it up here.

I'm not one for anti-climatic stories or icky endings. Unless they're really twisted, a la Chuck Palahniuk.

So, here it is. Thanks to everyone who kept up with my first ridiculous homage to the HP series. I thoroughly loved avoiding my homework for horrible gen ed classes in such a fluffy way.


	21. All Over Again

DISCLAIMER: I am not in any way affiliated with JK Rowling and her creations.

* * *

It wasn't the busiest day at King's Cross that Draco had seen, but he certainly hadn't seen it like this for a while. Then again, he hadn't been in London since he'd graduated from Hogwarts. The scenery reminded him very much of Grand Central's; swarms of hurried businessmen navigated their way through the crowd without giving so much of a glance up from their handhelds, passing unfortunate or unwilling Hagrid-looking men with handmade placards detailing their hardships. Robust women, uncannily perched upon stilettoed heels, accompanied other robust women, their rolls of flesh (as Draco was sure they had hundreds) camouflaged by their expensive taste in overcoats. It wasn't even that cold yet, so they weren't even bloody necessary.

He opened his copy of a muggle newspaper he'd never read before. He _didn't_ read muggle newspapers. That was just it; the sooner he finished his business here, the sooner he could head out and get a _real _handle on the world. He'd been too busy packing up and canceling leases that he hadn't even had a decent meal in the past three days. Thankfully enough, he enjoyed another bite of the croissant he'd picked up from Nero's along with his tea. It wasn't much, and he was hardly a meaty man as it was, but it would hold him over for the next hour or two.

He leaned back in his seat. Granted, the lounge here was hardly possessing of old-time charm, but he wasn't looking for a piece of artwork. Ever since he'd first come to the station, to catch the Express during his first year, he'd never thought of it as anything special. The paper he had open in his lap even had an article about their plans to refurbish within the next few years. New students would get to see it in a brand new sort of grandeur, if you wanted to call it that. Then again, to an eleven year-old who wasn't brought up the way Draco was, anything could've been an engineering marvel. He imagined the Weasleys' first steps into the station. Even the homeless men here were unfazed, but the Weasleys must've been in awe.

A part of Draco tasered himself for thinking so lowly of the family, but he didn't know where that part came from. He'd never had a particular sympathy for them before. Had it not been for Harry, he wouldn't have had to associate with them altogether.

This time, though, that particular shot of nostalgia was a bit more blunt than he'd expected.

He hadn't thought about it much recently. For the first few months, yes, it was something like a kick in the teeth, to go from having Harry as a roommate to not having anyone at all. He didn't want to consider it as anything more than a teenage obsession, but for some reason, after giving it up, he'd almost felt like it was something much more serious.

It was as though he was grieving.

But, with the usual vigorous attempts at squashing any and all emotion (it was darkly hilarious in accomplishing that), he'd managed to move on. Or at least, as much as he could move on without even getting over it.

He'd never really gotten over it.

But, there was a time and place for Spring Cleaning the skeletons out of Draco's closet, and by all means, this was not the time nor the place. Again, he was unfortunately tied to the Weasley family, waiting to meet with the only one who hadn't managed to grind his nerves quite as much as the rest of the lot. Percival Weasley had been promoted sometime last year to the rank of the minister's Senior Undersecretary, and had to be the youngest in the government's history to ever receive the title. Hell, Draco was twenty-four, and though he'd held a fairly prestegious place in the American ministry for quite some time, it wasn't nearly as ridiculous as Weasley's job. Of course, that was the business of being here in the first place, when it came down to logistics. Someone had recommended him— it was always recommendations, wasn't it?— for a position with the ministry he'd grown up with, and here he was, ready to take on the details.

Sure, he was ready to work with them, as long as he kept his head low. He just wasn't sure how fair they would be in their considerations.

A flash of red darted into the corner of his vision, but unfortunately, it was accompanied by a hot splash of spilled coffee and a feminine voice. Draco reflexively cursed loudly, his arms angled up in shock and natural defense. "God, will you bloody _watch it_? Fuck," he snapped, moving the now brown and soggy newspaper aside. This definitely wasn't Percy, which meant it would only be worse when he met up with him as stained as his slacks now were—

He looked up, and was momentarily stunned. This definitely wasn't Percy. This was his sister.

"I'm sorry, _sir_, accidents _happen,_" she retorted, hardly sounding sorry at all. She didn't realize who she was talking to until she was finished picking up the remainder of her things that had dropped to the floor. "I wouldn't have _tripped_ if you didn't leave your luggage in the walk— oh my god . . . " she ended in something close to a whisper. "All the duffers in London and I drop my breakfast on _you?_"

"Oh, okay, it's great to see you too, don't bother asking if I'm all right," Draco said sardonically. "It's not as though you just poured hot liquid on my crotch."

Ginny grew a little redder in the face, if that was possible. "I said it was an accident. Though it's no use explaining it to you, I suppose."

Draco grabbed a wad of napkins from the empty seat next to him. They weren't used, but one or two of them had a distinct brown ring stained from the same sort of to-go coffee cup. Had they not been in such a muggle-heavy location, he could've cleaned it up without a problem.

"No, I wouldn't want to hear an excuse anyway," he said, wiping up the mess. "God, keep talking to me like this and I'll start to think you don't like me."

"Oh no, wouldn't want you to think that!" she said in a ridiculous tone. "Mind my asking what you're doing here in the first place? I could've sworn I had Harry tell me on numerous occasions that you'd dropped off the face of the earth," she added.

"Is that how he phrased it?"

She smiled to herself. "No, but that's the way I'd like to think of it."

Draco finished mopping up what little he could and set the wet napkins aside. Thank god he still had his own beverage. Ginny's had spilled entirely.

"Touchy, aren't we," Draco said, raising the cup. "I'm here on business."

"I thought your business was overseas."

"It is, or at least, it was. For a while. Today, though, my business is with your brother."

Ginny gave a look teeming with suspicion. "Which brother?"

"Your star-child. Unless you have a brother with a more impressive career than Undersecretary."

Ginny sat down to Draco's right. He found it odd that she felt so inclined to know.

"Percy? Why are you meeting up with _Percy_?"

Draco leaned back, attempting to become one with his tea. Drinking it was the only routine he'd accomplished today. And he needed his routines.

"Ministry stuff. You don't need to know. Frankly, I don't feel like telling you," he said, a devilish sort of smile cropping up from his own enjoyment.

"Fine. Okay. I'm done," she said, throwing her hands up. "I don't trust you one bit, but Percy can take care of himself. You can be _his_ headache today, not mine."

"I'll make sure of it," Draco said, reeling with laughter on the inside. God, she didn't know how to ease up, did she? Ginny and her entire family were exactly the same. If they weren't taking one thing too seriously, they were brushing it off completely.

"Honestly," she said, gathering her things in preparation to leave, "I don't know how Harry put up with you and your lot for a year. I'd have thrown a few Unforgivables at you in the first week."

"You are a greater man than I, Ginevra," Draco said, not even focusing on her.

"Don't let me catch you calling me that again," she snapped back. Draco wondered if she meant "a man" or "Ginevra".

She stood up, her purse slung over her shoulder, before she flipped her flaming scarlet hair over her shoulder. "I guess I might have to see a lot more of you, Malfoy. Don't think that's a good thing."

Draco watched as she took a few steps toward the exit of the lounge, before he called out to her. "I didn't see a wedding ring, Weasley. Or am I supposed to call you Potter after all?"

She stopped, deadweight, in her tracks. She didn't say anything right away, either. Draco watched her carefully.

"No," she said quietly, without turning around right away. "It's Weasley again."

"Again?" Draco asked, retaining a flat demeanor. "So it did happen. I got an invitation three years back, you know."

"Don't even bring it up," she said, finally facing him, but then she seemed to change her mind. She took a few strides back in his direction. He had to admit, it was quite intimidating. "Yes, if it answers your question, we lasted two years."

"And then?"

She shook her head, staring at him directly. She inhaled deeply, but her answer was more calm than Draco was expecting. "And then, we ended it. Simple as that."

She watched him for any sign of acknowledgement, that this was the answer he was looking for, but she didn't get much in response. Instead, she turned to leave, much more slowly this time, but stopped before she reached the exit.

"He didn't want me, in the end." Draco didn't know she was going to say anything, so he looked up quickly. "Nothing I could do about it. Nothing _we_ could fix. He said he . . . well, I don't know what he meant by it, exactly, but I don't think I fit his preference," she said, almost too quietly for Draco to hear. "He wasn't cheating. Still loves me, just not like that. I don't know," she said, shrugging much too easily for it to have been a natural reaction.

Draco watched her struggle. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said.

"Don't," she quickly covered, shaking her head. She exhaled, and looked at Draco for longer than he would've been comfortable with. "You know, he mentioned you a lot. How you turned out to be a pretty okay bloke." She rummaged through her purse, and took out a small white card before letting it drop to the floor in front of Draco. "That's his business card, for the Auror's office. I think . . . he meant for you to come back."

And Ginny, just as quickly as her onset of honesty had dripped like fluid from her lips, turned on her heels and rounded the corner. Draco tentatively set his cup down and stood to pick up the card. Sure enough, emblazened in gold and green lettering, the name HARRY POTTER graced the front of the card, with a messy scrawl of handwritten contact info scratched across the bottom. It was obviously for Ginny, and it was very Harry of him to add it on at the last minute.

Draco wondered how long she'd held onto this card. Maybe, giving it up was a final reconciliation with the past.

It was an ending for her . . . and Draco knew, without question, what she'd meant by telling him all of this. It was a beginning for him.

Somehow, he found himself insane, pacing with his luggage through the station's atrium and quickening to a trot toward the entrance. He didn't notice the caged owls and oddly dressed men and women who began to appear around him. It was September 1st, but he couldn't have told anyone that had they asked. There was only one crazy, farfetched thing on his mind, controlling his body to move forward, to hasten into a slow jog to catch a cab— he suddenly realized that, yes, he was a wizard, and could rid himself of the obstacles without even thinking twice. His bags were quickly shrunk— there was no need to check them at a desk when they could fit in his pockets— and his wand, he could apparate in a millisecond . . .

He stopped. What was he doing? Was it even right to assume he was wanted? Ginny had only said it in speculation. There was nothing confirmed, nothing that said in any way that Draco Malfoy could appear on Harry's doorstep after six years of absence . . .

He finally noticed the families, the kids who were bound for Hogwarts. He'd taken that leap of faith before. He'd asked Harry to be his friend, blindly, without any doubt in his mind, and he was shot down. That was thirteen bloody years ago.

Was he a coward? Or was he a realist?

He closed his eyes. The light from the glass overhead windows cast a redness through his eyelids. Around him, he heard thousands of shoes scuffing their way across the concourse, each hustling toward a muggle platform or a wizarding platform or a restaurant or a toilet. Did he know where he wanted to go? Was he stuck?

No. He'd been stuck. For too long.

And then he did it, when a large group passed by and engulfed him in its mass. He did it with the address in mind, and he felt the strong pull that often incurred him with motion sickness. He heard the sounds of the station slipping into white noise and then nothing but a suburban street.

He opened his eyes. 12 Grimmauld Place.

And he knocked.


End file.
